


Stand Up and Walk

by emo_trash



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, Brotherhood, Depression, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Long, M/M, Named Reader, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, character-insert, good(?), i really love envy a lot you guys, reader - Freeform, winry is a lesbian in this one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2018-09-13 20:52:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 68,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9141778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emo_trash/pseuds/emo_trash
Summary: You were young when Trisha Elric found you all alone in the rain. She took you in, made you part of the family. When Trisha died, you, Ed, and Al tried to bring her back—and failed.You lost so much that day. Now, you're going to get it all back, or you're going to die trying.





	1. The Law of Equivalent Exchange

_Alchemy._

_The science of understanding, deconstructing, and reconstructing matter._

_However, it is not an all-powerful art._

_It is impossible to create something out of nothing. If one wishes to obtain something, something of equal value must be given. This is the law of Equivalent Exchange—the basis of all alchemy._

_In accordance with this law, there is a taboo among alchemists. Human transmutation is strictly forbidden. For what can equal the value of a human soul?_


	2. Not Dead Yet

“Damn it,” Ed scowls. “The Colonel's never gonna let us outta here, is he?”

“We already bought our tickets for Liore, too,” you complain.

You can hear Al’s pout as he speaks. “Does this mean we’re not going?”

“I don’t know, Al,” Ed says, climbing to his feet from where he sits on the edge of the building. “For now, let’s just get this over with, okay?”

**...**

_“I still have too long a life ahead to get rid of these feelings, right? I want to try doing over the things I’ve left undone. I thought I was running after something carried over from my dreams, yet I’m stumbling into people on this narrow, winding road. It’s not like I want to go back to the way things were back then; I’m just searching for the sky I’ve been losing. Here’s hoping you’ll understand. Stop making that sad face as though you were a victim. Sins don’t end in tears; you have to carry the pain forever. Who am I waiting for in this maze of emotions with no way out in sight? I want to purge myself more simply, as if writing in a blank notebook. What is it I want to escape from? ...Is it reality? It makes me want to scream that we’re alive for things to come true. Can you hear me? I can’t put up with playing it safe. ...I’ve got nowhere to go home to! I’m always grateful for kindness; that’s why I want to grow stronger (I’m on the way). I even welcome this pain for the things I miss.”_

_—Yui, Again_

**...**

The Freezing Alchemist appraises the dead body coldly (no pun intended). “Water freezes, water boils. Either way, you’re just as dead.”

Overhead, he sees something glimmer. He has just enough time to leap backward as a spear strikes the spot he was just standing in with enough force to crack the concrete.

“That’s alchemy,” he mutters, seeing a blue crackle run through it. He looks around quickly, preparing to fight again.

A pair of brown boots step out from the shadows. “What a nasty thing to do,” a boy’s voice chastises him. The boots are followed by a short boy with golden eyes, blonde hair pulled back in a loose braid, and a long, red jacket.

The Freezing Alchemist grins madly. “You of all people should know that great deeds require great sacrifices,” he growls. “Isn’t that the law of Equivalent Exchange?”

You step out from behind Ed. “Save your breath, you asshole,” you snarl, glaring at him fiercely with the eye not hidden from behind your black patch. Your long red hair dances around your shoulders—both metal and flesh—as you raise your arms in front of you. “The laws of alchemy don’t justify murder!” you growl, clapping your hands and slamming them onto the wall beside you.

Several inches worth of brick structure explode into dust with the black crackle of your alchemy, and you gather the motes into to humanoid figures, which stand by your side.

Beside you, Ed also claps his hands, grabbing onto the spear that stands beside him, transmuting it into a spiked mace. He points it at the man, and you know that there’s a cartoon version of his head at the end.

The older alchemist gasps. “No transmutation circles!”

“Oh, wipe the drool off your chin, will you?” you growl at him. Then, in one swift motion, you, Ed, and your two shadowy companions lunge at the man. You pull a little bit of dust off of each of your creations and solidify them, leaving yourself with two small daggers, one in each hand.

Once the older man is sufficiently distracted, Ed shouts out, “Al! Do it now!” The man startles and just has time to fling himself to the ground as Al sends a hard punch to where his head was a moment ago.

Ed dashes over and swings his mace over his head, bringing it down to meet the man’s groin. Unfortunately, the ex-State Alchemist blocks the blow with his metal gauntlets.

After a brief struggle of wills, the Freezing Alchemists manages to shove the metal mace away from himself—just as one of your steel-toe boots collides with his skull.

The light leaves his eyes for a moment and he falls back down onto the concrete. You lean down carefully, the man still knocked out, and grab him by the shirt front with your dominant left hand. You begin to haul his worthless ass up from the ground, and suddenly the man springs to life, blasting your arm with a bout of boiling alchemy. The sleeve of your black fleece jacket explodes in a fury, and you’re sent flying backward with the force of it.

Of course, your arm is just fine.

This obviously surprises the damn psycho, who chokes out an exclamation of disbelief as Al tries to clock him over the head with both fists. The psycho blocks the blow with his gauntlets again, flipping Al over his shoulder with some effort. As the man is off balance, Ed catapults over his brother, attempting to punch his opponent in the face. At the last second, the man’s arm shoots up and he blasts the limb with boiling force.

“No!” he shouts. “I had you! The both of you! I don’t understand! Any water there should have boiled!”

You shoot him a one-eyed glare. “You fucked up my coat,” you sneer, letting your metal arm glint in the dim light of the alley.

The man’s eyes are like saucers. “An automail arm!” he gasps.

You and Ed rise to your feet, and Al appears behind you both. You shrug your fleece jacket off your shoulders—well, _shoulder_ , now—and Ed yanks off the remains of his own with a flourish.

The ex-alchemist’s eyes narrow. “Two gifted young alchemists,” he says slowly, his eyes raking over your and Ed’s arms. “Who don’t use transmutation circles...with automail arms and a missing eye...” the man glares. “I know you two,” he snaps. “You are the Fullmetal and Smokebomb Alchemists! Edward Elric and Echo Slade!” Then he pauses and looks confused. “ _You’re_ the two infamous alchemist? But you’re runts!”

“OH YEAH? WELL CAN A RUNT DO THIS?!” Ed screams in rage. At the exact same time, you scream, “OH, I’LL SHOW YOU WHO THE RUNT IS, YOU MOTHERFUCKER!” Together, the two of you clap your hands.

Ed traps the man in a stone box so tight that he can’t move at all, and only his face is sticking out. At the same time, you put a swirling mist of black dust right in front of his eyes, rendering him temporarily blind to all but that said mist. And within the mist, you show him his worst nightmares playing out in front of him.

“I’ve heard the stories,” the man says in a muffled voice, “but I never imagined this! The Fullmetal and Smokebomb Alchemists are just little kids?!”

“ _DON’T CALL ME LITTLE!!!_ ”

The man goes flying as he’s hit by a stone pillar and tangible shadows.

“...You know guys,” Al says slowly, taking in Ed’s furrowed brow and your anime vein, “I don’t think he was talking about your height just now...”

“...IT DOESN’T MATTER!!!”

**...**

The young man beams at you and Al happily. “So you’re the ones we’ve been hearing stories about!” he chirps. “The Fullmetal and Smokebomb Alchemists! You’re as good as they say,” the man praises you and Al. “Thanks for the help.”

You have to bite your lip to suppress your laughter as Ed comes strolling into the alley, having repaired his jacket with alchemy. “Come on, let’s get going, guys!” he encourages, beginning to walk away. “We got a train to catch!”

You hear the sound of a body hitting the pavement and you turn just in time to see the handcuffed alchemist on the ground, grinning madly, before there is a blast of steam so massive that it encompasses the entire alley. You flinch and put your arms up to block your face.

“What is that?” Ed coughs. “Steam?”

“Brother!” Al exclaims. “Echo! He’s _gone!_ ”

“That motherfucker,” you say blandly.

**...**

“Looks like you underestimated your opponent,” Mustang says smoothly.

You’re with Ed on the small couch. His arms are draped over the back of it, and he’s glaring at the Colonel in irritation. Meanwhile, you are lying on your back, your head in Ed’s lap, long legs draped over one of the couch’s arms.

You need another coffee.

You roll your eyes at the Colonel, turning your head to face him. “Oh, shut it, Mister Bastard,” you tell him.

Mustang’s expression does not change.                            

Damn.

“Who is this guy, anyway?” Ed demands.

“You’d know that if you’d listened to the briefing like I told you to,” the Colonel says smoothly.

Damn it! Why is everything this man says so smooth?! His voice is like friggin silk, and it’s massively irritating.

Wait, no, whoa. Attention span. Stop it.

Yeah, you _really_ need another coffee.

“But _noooo_ ,” the dark-haired man says; “You _had_ to go charging right in like—”

Ed scowls and puts his hands out. “Yeah, yeah,” he interrupts. “We get it, okay? I’m sorry, jeez. Okay? Whatever!”

The Colonel smirks smugly, and you shift slightly in Ed’s lap, making him glance at you. _You’re a dumb ass!_ you mouth to him with a grin.

He leers at you and you giggle.

I’m sorry; did I mention that you need another coffee?

Mustang clears his throat to get your attention again. “Next time a superior officer tells you to pay attention,” he says smoo— _nope!_ “...just try.”

“...Fine,” Ed grumbles, and the bastard’s smug grin gets even more smug.

“Now then,” Roy continues. “His name is Isaac McDougal—or, as he was known back in the day, Isaac ‘The Freezer’. He’s a former State Alchemist. He served in the Ishvalan War.” The man gets up from his desk and paces over to face the wall. He puts his hands in his pockets. “During that time, he gave us no sign that he’d turned traitor.” Ed turns to watch the man over his shoulder. “But immediately after, he resigned his commission and went into hiding. He’s been working with the anti-establishment group ever since.” He glances at Ed over his shoulder, his dark eyes narrowing. “Taking him into custody is a matter of top priority. Whether it’s dead or alive, that’s up to him.”

You sit up and stare Mustang dead in the eye, your chin raised and eyes narrowed. “We’re not killing anyone,” you tell him, momentarily sobering up and using a voice that says that you will not warrant any further discussion on the subject.

“Then that’s your choice,” Mustang continues, despite your obvious warning. “Your orders are simply to help us contain him.”

After a short pause, Mustang grins, and the tension in the air dissolves. Ed’s glare lessens and you rest your head back on his lap. “Unrelated,” the Colonel says, “have you found any leads for getting your bodies back to normal?”

Ed starts and then glares at the smirking Colonel with anime veins pulsing at his forehead. “Well maybe if you ever gave us time to look!!!” he yells.

Suddenly, the door is kicked open, and you jump about eight feet in the air as a loud, fast-moving man bursts into the room. “Roy!” he cheers. “How goes? Heard they put you in charge of catching The Freezer, huh? One hell of a nasty assignment! But hey, great chance to earn that promotion to Central!” He notices you and the boys. “What’s this?” he exclaims. “Looks like my timing was perfect! You’re Echo and the Elric brothers, right?!”

He rushes over to you and drags you upright by your fleshy right hand, shaking it with gusto before rushing over to do the same with Al. “It’s an honor to finally get to meet the two youngest State Alchemists ever!” he gushes. “You’re a real legend around here! I’m Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes!”

Al pulls his armored hand away shyly. “Um, actually, you want Edward. I’m his younger brother, Alphonse!”

“ _What?!_ ” the man exclaims, swiveling on his heel dramatically to see Ed glaring daggers at him. You have to bite your lip to keep in your laughter. “ _You’re_ the Fullmetal Alchemist?! I’m so sorry! I had no idea you’d be so—”

Ed’s deadly glare cuts him off.

“Hughes,” Mustang calls, drawing the eccentric man’s attention. “What are you doing here?” He does not sound happy. “Go home.”

You wait for the _You’re drunk_ part to come, but it never does.

...Does that mean that he’s like this all the time?!?!

“Actually,” Maes says, suddenly serious. “I’m here on official business.” He turns to you and the boys, Ed still fuming. “You,” he says with a smile. “Kids. I understand you three don’t have a place to stay. That means you’ll have to come with me.”

Ed looks confused, as does Al (...well, as confused as you can look without a face...), and you tilt your head to one side.

Hughes’ glasses flash and he reaches into his jacket, pulling something out quickly and pointing it at you three.

All three of you scream, and you bring your hands out to clap before you realize that it’s just a picture of a young woman and a little girl.

He lets the three of you study the picture for a moment before lowering it. He has the weirdest expression on his face, one that you have no idea how to even _begin_ to describe. “My wife Gracia and my daughter Elicia would _love_ to have you!” he squeals.

You and Ed glance at each other, both with wide eyes and matching expressions of something between fear, confusion, and amusement. Simultaneously, you blink twice.

“...Okay?”

**...**

_(Outside POV)_

After you, Ed, and Al leave with Maes Hughes, Mustang strides back over to his desk, sliding into the chair and gazing at the door over his interlaced fingers.

“Sir,” Riza tells him, “you need to return to your paperwork.”

Mustang all but ignores her, his eyes still fixed on the door. “I ship those two,” he says smoothly.

A grin grows rapidly on her face. _Did he just say ship? He knows what a ship is??_

_...I’m so proud of him!_

 “As do I, Sir.”

**...**

_(Second Person POV)_

The green-eyed little girl blinks up at the three teenagers before being tackled into a hug by her father, who rubs his cheek against hers while squealing some greeting involving the word Princess.

She giggles helplessly. “Ow!” she squeals. “Daddy, your beard is itchy!”

After a few moments ( ~~or minutes~~ ), Hughes releases his daughter. “Look Elicia! We have guests! This is Echo and the Elric brothers!”

The little girl tips her head to one side. “Big brother,” she states, pointing at Al; “Little brother.” Ed.

It takes everything you have in you not to burst out laughing as Ed tries his hardest not to flip out on the little girl. “Nice to meet you,” he says in a strained voice, further inciting your laughter—to the point where you’re shaking silently—as his eyebrows twitch. “My name is Edward Elric. This is my younger brother, Alphonse Elric. You hear that? _Younger._ Brother.”

“But younger means little,” Elicia informs him and a strangled sound escapes your throat as Ed fixes her with a (mostly unnoticed) death glare. “And you’re little!”

You and Ed explode at the same time, but in entirely different ways. Steam pours out of his nose and several anime veins pulse in his forehead. He raises a shaking fist and growls low in his throat.

You, on the other hand, laugh so hard that it actually _hurts_ , and not just because of the way you fall backward onto the floor, clutching your stomach, tears leaking out of your one eye.

Al, Gracia, Hughes, and Elicia just watch the two of you go nuts in silence, confused, worried, amused, and a bit afraid.

“STOP LAUGHING AT ME!!!!!!”

 

**...**

 

Both Ed’s and your eye(s) grow huge and sparkly when you see the array of food spread out on the table. A small whimper of joy escapes your mouth, no matter how hard you try to withhold it. You swear that lasagna by Ed’s elbow is sparkling. _Sparkling,_ god damn it!

“Okay, eat up!”

“Oh my god, yes!” you agree eagerly, brandishing your cutlery in anticipation. Your mouth is watering.

Hughes watches in something close to amazement as half the food on the table disappears almost immediately, consumed by the two of you alone. And there was enough food on the table to feed all of Resembool.

“Oh, you weren’t kidding!” Ed groans.

You nod fervently. “This is _great!!_ ”

“Don’t be shy,” Gracia encourages you both. “Eat all you want!”

Your eye widens in pitiful amazement. “...Really?” you beg.

Gracia laughs, feeling something like a goddess. The words _like Gail_ float through her head, and she wonders briefly where they come from before they vanish. “Of course!” she encourages. “It’s great to see you eat! The both of you, you’re so skinny!”

“M’tabo’i’um.” You try to speak around a mouthful of food, then flush slightly, swallowing and wiping your mouth. “Sorry. Metabolism. The both of us, it runs way too fast. Our bodies can’t keep up with the calories.”

_Speaking of bodies..._

“Al,” Hughes chastises lightly, “how are you going to eat wearing that armor? Take it off! Relax!”

Al stiffens immediately, and Ed freezes with a forkful of food at his lips. You simply continue eating normally and kicking Ed’s flesh leg under the table. Hard. _Be normal, dumb ass!_

“He can’t,” you grin. “Poor sucker has to wear that damn thing all the time. Part of his alchemy training.” A hint of fear passes through you as you say, “Teacher’s really strict.”

Ed and Al’s simultaneous shudders are convincing enough for the family of three. They smile at Al sympathetically and go back to eating.

You let out a long, quiet breath of relief. That was close. Way, way, way too close. And god knows that Ed and Al can’t lie to save their lives.

Thank god you’ve nearly perfected the art, or else you three would have been in big trouble a thousand times over.

**...**

You can’t sleep.

None of you can.

Al can’t sleep because...well, he really _can’t_ sleep. Like, at all. Ever.

Ed, well...you never really know with Ed.

And you can’t sleep because you won’t let yourself.

Late at night, your brain works in a different way. Your thoughts come in clearer and more honest at night. And night is the only time when you allow yourself to try to make sense of everything you saw of the Truth.

You stare up at the ceiling contemplatively, toying with a few strands of your red hair absent-mindedly.

“Echo,” Al says softly. “Brother. Are you awake?” When you and Ed look over at him, he says, “Miss Grace’s quiche sure looked a lot like Mom’s, huh?”

You smile fondly at the memory. You haven't thought about Mom’s quiche in years, but you and the boys used to _live_ for the stuff, begging her to make it all the time. She would just laugh and ruffle your heads, saying not to today.

After a while, you had come to realize that the reason Trisha didn’t make quiche every day was because the ingredients were too expensive. She would only splurge for a special occasion.

You’d never told the boys.

“Yeah,” you say, a little sad. “Almost as good, too.”

Al seems surprised. “Really? Well in that case, I’m definitely adding it to the list of things I’m gonna eat when I get my body back.”

Your chest aches in guilt and you scratch absently at your thigh. _Your fault..._

“Right!” Ed smiles. “Put it on there, right near the top.”

There is a short pause. “Guys?” Al says softly. “...I sure would like to get our real bodies back soon.”

“I know,” Ed replies, just as quiet. “Me too.”

**...**

You, Ed, and Al stare down at the steaming, blistered body slumped against the wall. His skin is red and bumpy—the man had been boiled alive.

You want to throw up.

Somebody behind you is calling for a medic, but it’s too late for that. The man is already gone. “Report to Headquarters, five men dead!”

Five men. Five men were killed by that man, Isaac McDougal.

He is going to pay.

“Let’s hurry,” Ed says, mirroring your thoughts. “We have to find him before he gets anyone else.”

You begin searching the city, and an explosion sounds behind you. You gasp and the three of you whirl around, running _to_ the explosion, rather than the logical choice of _away_ from it.

“Mister Armstrong!” you shout as the three of you come sprinting into the alley.

Isaac growls and whirls around, flinging an open bottle of water at the three of you. He uses alchemy to make the water inside explode into a massive blast of scalding mist.

You scream and fling your hands up to protect your face. You feel the front of your body beginning to burn just as Ed yanks you into his arms, the two of you ducking behind Al, who shields you from the blast with his metal body. You hear running footsteps darting by and jerk out your leg, wincing as you feel the skin burning, tripping the man in his attempt to escape.

But then you hear a grunt, and the footsteps resume—he’d just gotten right back up again.

The burning mist dissipates as quickly as it came, and Ed raps his knuckles against Al’s armored chest. “Thanks for the quick save, Al.” The younger boy shouts something about McDougal getting away, and Ed presses his lips against your ear. “You okay?” he murmurs.

You feel goose bumps rising against the burnt skin of your arms. “Yeah,” you lie. “I’m fine. Come on!”

“Come then,” Armstrong orders in a deep voice, and you tip your head back to look at the giant of a man. “Follow me, young ones.”

The four of you take off running.

**...**

McDougal drags the large rock fragments off the transmutation circle he’d drawn. “Yes!” he growls. “Still there.”

“Stop right there,” Ed orders the man harshly.

“We were wondering what you were doing in this alley, so we came back to check it out,” you continue coldly. “And bingo—here you are.”

McDougal lets out a small chuckle and rises to his feet.

Al steps in to block the entrance at the other side of the alley. “There’s nowhere to run this time!” he shouts.

“Clearly,” the man agrees. “But who’s running?” He raises his arms out to his sides and the chalk circle at his feet begins to glow red with alchemy. It shoots a beam of red lighting into the air.

You choke out a gasp as you take in the glowing beams of light coming from various points in the city. Ed’s red-cast eyes shine with horror, confirming your dreaded suspicion. “An alchemic reaction!” he whispers. “In this scale!”

“Impossible!” Al denies, sounding like he doesn’t even believe himself. “Unless—”

“Unless he has a stone.” Your words are riddled with emotions that not even you can decipher.

You and Ed whirl around at the same time matching wild grins on your faces. “A philosopher’s stone!” he exclaims.

Then both of you fall silent as the world begins to glow a soft blue. Ice slowly begins to crackle into existence along the walls and ground. Your and Ed’s hair begins to stir softly in the icy breeze. The cold feels like bliss against your burned front. “He’s freezing all the moisture in the air,” you mutter in disbelief.

“Echo and Ed,” McDougal says coldly (still no pun intended...). He is standing before a wall of ice that glows with red at the base—from his transmutation circle at the other side, no doubt.

Al’s also at the other side.

“You’ve sworn your lives to the state of the dogs of the military. But do you really know the ones you serve, or what their true plans are?”

You glare at the man with a glare that promises death—terrifying even with one eye. “You think we care?” you snarl. “It’s not our problem!”

“Don’t be a fool!” McDougal shouts at you angrily. “He’ll lead you to ruin—I’m only doing what needs to be done!”

“I told you!” you shout back. “We don’t fucking care!”

Al comes flying in from the other side of the wall, engaging in combat with the Freezing Alchemist. At some point, he lands a solid hit and McDougal comes sailing backward. You and Ed have to dive to the side to avoid being struck by the airborne body.

McDougal slams into the metal railing at the bride. “Alright!” Ed cheers. “Nice work, Al!”

“But we still have to stop his alchemy!” Al shouts.

“I know,” Ed confirms. “So where is it?” he snaps at the terrorist. “You have a philosopher’s stone, don’t you?”

The man grins madly. “What’re you talking about?”

You snarl and lunge forward, and for a moment the man actually flinches at the sight of a scrawny, five-foot tall redheaded girl jumping at him. You grab his collar in your left hand and jerk him up. You lean your face toward him until you are inches apart. There is a nearly psychotic rage in your one green eye. “ _Where is it!_ ” you scream at him, ignoring the throbbing pain from your burns. “ _Tell me! Tell me or I swear to fucking god, I will kill you right fucking now!_ ”

You are bluffing.

But he doesn’t know that. You are, after all, an outstanding liar. And a great actor.

But McDougal doesn’t tell you, not even close. Instead, he smirks. “And how will you do that, girl?” he questions you haughtily. “You’re out of your league!!” A massive wall of water rises up behind the man and you gasp and stumble back.

The wall freezes and McDougal grabs onto the metal railing as it begins to rise, taken up by the growing mountain of ice. You and the boys have no choice but to run as the sub-arctic wall begins to grow rapidly, charging toward you.

“Stand back!” Armstrong orders, beginning to sparkle. “And prepare to witness a bout of ARMSTRONG ALCHEMY!!!”

“He’s all yours, Major!” Ed promises as you sprint by the man.

“Witness the alchemic art passed down through the Armstrong line for generations!” He slams a mighty fist into the wall of ice, and a ripple of energy runs through it. His side of the wall explodes, but suddenly the side of it shoots out, going right through a building.

“...Well that’s unexpected...”

“What the heck are you doing?!” Ed demands, waving his fists in the air. “You’re making it worse!!!”

The ice wall rages through Central, rising and falling like waves over the tops of buildings.

“The ice walls!” you scream, pointing. “They’re merging!”

“But that would mean—!”

“If they all meet in the middle,” Ed says darkly. “—ah, damn it!” he shouts. “Central Command!”

“He’s gonna freeze it over!” all three of you shout simultaneously.

“Mister Armstrong!” you shout to the man determinedly. “Ed, Al, and I will try our best to slow this bastard down. I need you to destroy the transmutation circles!”

The large man gives a single nod. “Consider them erased,” he promises.

**...**

“Füher King Bradley,” McDougal says contemplatively. “For your cold-blooded crimes in Ishval, I condemn you to a frozen hell.”

“Not so fast!” Ed screams out, rising on a pillar made of stone. He lands on the wall of ice.

You come sailing in atop a swirling mass of semi-solidified black dust, landing gracefully by Ed’s side. Al uses another stone pillar to come flying in behind you and Ed.

McDougal presses his hands onto the moving ice wall and the top layer surges toward the three of you. “Two can play at that game!” Ed shouts, clapping his hands and slamming them down, sending his own wave of snow at the man.

Ed’s wave is far more powerful, and shatters the whole side of the wall that McDougal is standing on. The man goes flying, using alchemy to send hot water raining down on you and the boys. Soaked to the skin, red hair sticking to your face and arms, you shout in pain at the boiling liquid charring searing your skin further.

Isaac begins to flee, using alchemy to create icy steps for himself as he sprints high above the ground. He lands on the ice wall again, and lunges for the elder of the Elric brothers.

“ _Ed!_ ” you scream, just as Al cries out, “ _Brother!_ ” You jump up, aiming a roundhouse kick at McDougal’s head and Al yanks his brother out of the way of the psycho’s outstretched arm—thereby putting himself in the way.

“Too slow!” McDougal cackles as his hand grasps Al’s faceplate firmly. Boiling steam explodes inside the armor, the force of it knocking his helmet right off his body.

“Alphonse!” Ed shouts, still trapped in his brother’s arms.

It’s at that moment that your boot collides with McDougal’s skull, and the man gives a brief shout of pain before dropping to his knees.

Unfortunately, he’s not unconscious.

Ed and Al take this moment to spring upright, and McDougal’s eyes immediately zero in on the blood seal inside Al’s empty armor. Horror fills his gaze. “There’s no one in that,” he rasps. “It’s empty!” As Ed picks up his brother’s helmet, McDougal continues along his train of thought, which is headed in a dangerous direction. “But that can only be true if a soul was bonded to the suit of armor...” He flinches as he puts the pieces together. His eyes narrow. “So you both lost your arms,” he says to you and Ed together. “—and you lost your eye...and this one, he lost his entire body...” A crazed grin plasters across his face. “I see. It all makes sense.” Your one-eyed warning glare is ignored by the man before you. “You fools committed the ultimate taboo!” he shouts. Something in Ed’s eyes flash dangerously. “You attempted human transmutation, didn’t you?! Alchemy’s one and only unforgivable sin!”

Ed’s eyes shift until his glare is nearly as intense as the one you wear. You know he’s experiencing the same flashbacks as you.

_...You’re sobbing, whole body thrumming in pain, pain like nothing you’ve ever felt before...Ed is screaming, keening, a horrible, aching wail of agony, and—oh god. His leg is gone, it’s gone, and he’s clawing at the bleeding stump...the floor is flooded in red, red, red, so much red, and it’s impossible to tell where your blood ends and his begins...You stagger over to the armor, collapsing against it, intentionally knocking it over with the force of your body, the head clattering off once it hits the ground. You try to get up again, to drag it over to Ed so he can help you, but your legs just don’t work right anymore...So you crawl..._

“Enough!” you scream at the man, utterly enraged, enraged beyond anything you’ve ever felt before. “You fucking bastard! I will fucking—!”

Ed’s voice, quiet with thinly-controlled fury, cuts you off instantly. “You know,” he murmurs, “there are some lines you really shouldn’t cross.”

McDougal has just a moment to be confused before Ed sprints toward him, punching him solidly in the gut with his automail fist. The man doubles over, wheezing, and Ed brings both hands together over his head, slamming them down fiercely onto the base of the man’s skull. His face crashes onto the ice and you pounce on him, kneeling on his chest and punching him in the face over and over.

After a moment, he throws you off and rolls over, only to see Al charging at him. Blood drips down from his nose and Al’s foot connects with McDougal’s jaw, and the man goes flying down from the ice wall, the three of you sliding down smoothly to meet him at the bottom.

“Give it up, bastard,” you command him cruelly unconcerned about the blood streaming down his face and arm. “There’s no water for you to use here.”

McDougal is down, but still fighting. He smirks. “You’ve forgotten something,” he informs you. “I have all the water I need—70 percent of my _body!_ ”

Your face fills with horror as you realize what he’s saying, but too late, because a stream of pointed, solidified blood is shooting out toward Ed. You don’t even have time to shout a warning, to take time to think, and there is only time to act.

You shove Ed out of the way forcefully, crying out when the double spikes pierce your flesh shoulder, stabbing in so far that they poke out the other side.

“Echo!” Ed and Al scream simultaneously. You stagger backward, away from the penetrating spears, but they follow you. Gritting your teeth, you jerk to the side, screaming out from behind your clenched jaw as the spikes shatter before you, the ends still firmly buried in your shoulder. You collapse to your knees blink rapidly at the black spots dancing faintly at the edges of your vision.

McDougal drags himself to his feet, swaying. “Why can’t you fools understand?!” he shouts. “I’m trying to _save_ this country!!”

His walls smash into the large building they’re aiming for, and McDougal starts to cackle as ice begins to grow on the brick. He staggers awkwardly away as Ed and Al both drop to their knees beside you.

“Echo,” Ed calls urgently. You try to respond, to give some sort of sign of acknowledgement, but your brain is sluggish. “ _Echo!_ ”

You force yourself to gather your wits. “Come on,” you grunt painfully, wrapping your hand around one of the spikes planted in your shoulder. “So help me god, this man is not getting away tonight!” You grit your teeth and tighten your grip. “I’m not dead yet!” you growl, ripping the pointed spear from your shoulder with a splatter of blood. Pain crashes through your body as you feel blood seeping down from your wound. “Not even close.”

**...**

Your head is swimming as you take in the bloody lump in the alley, covered by a grayish sheet. “Führer Bradley,” you exclaim, and one of the men turns around, his stoic face unruffled by the sight of the man on the ground. “You’re here?”

A soft smile rises to the older man’s face upon seeing you and Ed. “Ah, yes,” he says. “Job well done Smokebomb, Fullmetal. I came out to see if I can lend a hand. And to think, that I’d actually be the one to catch him! If nothing else, this should make an exciting story for my son!”

“...”

**...**

“You know,” Al says, “we never did find out whether or not he had a philosopher’s stone.”

You’re sitting dejectedly in a hospital bed, being treated for your shoulder and for the second-degree burns covering nearly the whole front of your body. Ed is in the chair immediately next to the bed, and Al is in the one next to that.

“No,” you agree. “But, with any luck, it’ll say something in the official report.”

There is a sudden knock on the door, and you are greeted by the sight of a bouquet of red roses. One of your eyebrows lifts almost automatically and your gaze rises, rises, rises, finally coming to land on the face of Major Alex Louis Armstrong.

“Greetings, Miss Echo,” he says in a strange voice, his head sparkling above the flowers. “When I heard you were in the hospital...” his eyes snap open and he’s suddenly shouting. “... **I dashed right over!!!** ”

You cower as his sparkles travel over to you and the boys, plinking softly into your face. Armstrong chuckles, setting the flowers down on your bedside table. “As I suspected, you’re in desperate need of my assistance.” His shirt is suddenly gone, and his massive, bear, ripped chest sparkles majestically as a scream tears its way from your throat (mixed somewhat with a giggle...?).

“You need an example of a perfect physical specimen to inspire your recovery! You see? You’re looking livelier already!!!”

“M—Mister Armstrong!!!!! I— _kyaa!!_ ”


	3. Someone in the Garden

The rain comes down as it never has before. The drops fall in curtains, in walls. The wind blows ferociously, howling like caged animal. The trees groan, bending, submissive below its mighty force. The flashes of lighting are brief but bright—they light up the pitch-black sky as though it were day. The thunder crashes with deafening force, rattling the little white farmhouse.

Inside, a woman named Trisha Elric is folding laundry, humming a happy tune under her breath. Upstairs, her youngest son, Alphonse Elric, is sleeping soundly in his bed, unruffled by the storm raging outside.

However, in their small, cozy living room, is her other son, Edward Elric. Trisha knows that he’s up, and Edward knows she knows, but she doesn’t tell him to go to sleep, despite the fact that it’s long past his bedtime.

He stands at the window that overlooks the garden in the front yard. His head barely comes up to the bottom of the window, and he’s almost too short to see out of it at all. He stands with his forehead pressed against the cool glass, his eyes unwaveringly focused on the storm outside. He doesn’t flinch when the thunder brings a slight tremor under his feet; he doesn’t blink when the lightning turns the sky white.

It is mid-November, and they are lucky that it’s not snowing.

In the other room, Trisha hears her son call for her softly.

"Mom?"

There’s something in his voice that makes her immediately put down her laundry and come into the room.

She comes up behind her son. She loves the soft golden light the fire casts from the hearth. She watches their shadows dancing, and hears the logs crackling.

“Mom,” her son says again, his voice still hushed. “There’s someone in the garden."

 

**...**

 

Ed is waiting by the door as a soaking-wet Trisha comes crashing back inside, holding an even wetter little girl in her arms. “Ed,” Trisha says calmly but urgently, “I need you to get me a bunch of towels.” Ed nods and slips away to get them.

Trisha takes the unconscious child in her arms and places her in front of the fire. The girl's skin is like ice. Her breathing is shallow, but what scares Trisha the most is that the child isn’t shivering—not at all.

As Ed comes back, his small arms full of towels, Trisha begins removing the girl's wet clothes. She takes the towels from Ed. “Thank you, Ed,” she tells him. “Now, I need you to go get me some clothes from your dresser, okay?” Ed nods again, still oddly quiet—he hasn’t said a word since he’d alerted Trisha to the girl's presence. He goes up the stairs, and Trisha pulls off the rest of the child's clothes, wrapping her tightly in the soft, white towels.

Ed comes down the stairs, holding a bundle of small clothes. He hands them to his mother, who gently pulls them onto the blue-lipped child. When she is dressed, Trisha begins to try to rub some warmth into the girl. She takes a moment to stoke the fire, and the flames jump, growing in size, providing a bit more heat. She nudges the girl a little closer. When she turns around, she sees Ed, his arms full of the blankets from his and Trisha’s beds. Trisha takes the blankets from him and wraps them around the girl, covering her up to her chin.

"Mom?" Ed asks quietly. "Who is she?"

"I'm not sure, sweetie," Trisha murmurs, pushing a few wet tendrils of hair back from the girl's face. "But she's sick, and we can't just leave her all alone, right?"

Ed nods. He's quiet for a moment, and then he speaks again, even quieter this time. "Is she gonna be okay, Mom?"

“I hope so, baby,” Trisha sighs, “But for now, all we can do is wait.”

 

**...**

 

For the next hour, Trisha watches over the pale child with Edward at her side. After some encouragement from Trisha, he begins to run a comb through her long, scraggly red hair.

At some point, Trisha notices that the girl's face is quickly growing red and sweaty. She touches her forehead softly, then sucks in a breath at the burning heat below the girl's skin.

“Mom?” Ed asks. “What’s wrong? Is she...?" He pauses worriedly, a dent forming between his eyebrows. "...She's not gonna die, is she?”

Trisha jumps. “Ed!" she exclaims, shocked. "Of course not! Don't say things like that. She's going to be fine; she just has a bad fever, that's all.” She begins to pull the blankets off of the child, lifting her gingerly in her arms and placing her on the family’s couch. “Ed, can you please get me a rag from the closet?”

As he goes to retrieve said rag, Trisha goes to the kitchen and fills a bowl with cold water. When Ed returns, she dips the cloth in the water, wrings it out, and gently wipes the child's burning face. After, she dips it again, wrings it out, and places it on the girl's forehead.

“Isn’t there anything else we can do?”

Trisha feels worry gnawing away at her heart even as she shakes her head. “No, Ed,” she says quietly. “We can't fight her fever for her, If she wants to get better, she'll have to be strong enough to beat it on her own. For now, we’re doing everything we can.”

 

**...**

 

Groggily, you peel open your eyes, only to shut them again with a groan a moment later as the blinding light begins to assault them. Every muscle in your body hurts, your lips feel dry and chapped, and your throat burns.

You force your eyes open again, blinking in the bright light that pools from the window. You stare at the wooden ceiling beams above you, at the green-painted walls.

_Green...?_

You struggle into an upright position, your legs getting tangled in a thin sheet that is draped over you. You glance around wildly, heart beating fast. Your eyes land on a little blonde boy who is standing in the doorway. He turns to face you, and when he sees you, his golden eyes widen.

“Mom!” he calls loudly. “She’s awake!”

A moment later, a kind-looking woman rushes into the room with another little blonde boy. She kneels by your side, and you recoil automatically. “Where am I?” you rasp. “Who are you?”

“My name is Trisha. These are my sons, Ed and Al. You were out all alone in a storm,” she tells you. “I found you in our bushes. Do you know how you got there? Or where your parents are?”

Memories plague your young mind. Tears pool in your eyes, but you force them not to fall. “I don’t have any,” you say.

“What do you mean, you don’t have any?” the shorter-haired boy asks shyly. “How can you not have any parents?”

You get a weird feeling in your insides, and it’s not a good feeling. It’s like a hollow, dull ache, and you feel empty. You wrap your arms around your tiny waist, saying nothing.

A cough wracks its way through your body, and Trisha hands you a glass of water. You down it gratefully, and then stare at the glass, wishing for more. Trisha smiles at you knowingly and hands the glass to Al, and he goes into the kitchen to refill it. You wipe away your tears and force yourself to ignore the fact that your family is dead.

“What’s your name?” Trisha asks you.

“...Echo.”

 

**...**

 

“Ed?” Trisha calls out. “Al? Echo?”  _Drat_ , she thinks with a slight smile.  _Where have those kids run off to this time?_  “Where are you?”

Trisha opens the door to her husband’s office and blinks. “Oh, you kids,” she sighs. There are books strewn about everywhere. Al is on his stomach, reading one of them. You are precariously perched on top of a very tall, very wobbly stack of books, trying to reach the top shelf of one of the tall bookcases lining the walls.

“Are you guys in here messing up your dad’s study again? And Ed, you  _know_  better than to scribble on the floor,” she chastises the boy.

“Yeah, but it’s not scribbling,” he protests. “Here, watch!”

There is a flash of blue electricity, and when it fades, Trisha blinks at the little duck in the middle of the circle Ed had drawn.

You pout. "Ducks are stupid."

Ed wrinkles his nose. "No,  _you're_  stupid!"

You frown, irritated. "I'll show you stupid, stupid!" you cry, pressing your hands onto the circle. Your sparkles are black, and when you’re done, the little dirt duck explodes into a pretty, black dust that drifts lazily through the air. "Ha!" you gloat. "Much better!"

As you and Ed begin to bicker, Al attempts to mediate and Trisha puts a hand over her mouth. “Oh my!” she gasps, setting down her bowl of tomatoes and kneeling next to her kids. “That’s alchemy, isn't it? Did your dad teach you that?”

Ed pouts. “How can he teach us anything if he’s not here?”

“Yeah,” Al says. “We read about it in these books!” You grin and hold up the book you’d grabbed from the top shelf with one hand, gnawing on the nail of your opposite thumb.

“I can’t believe you’ve done this!” Trisha exclaims.

Your faces all fall. “I’m sorry,” you murmur. “Did we mess up?”

Trisha claps her hands together. “No, no!” she says joyfully. “ _It’s great!_  You definitely take after your father! My little geniuses, you make me so proud!!”

Ed and Al beam under her praise, but you wilt into yourself, hugging your knees tighter into your chest and pressing your face into them, eyes cast downward to the floor.

Ed notices almost immediately. “Echo, what’s wrong? Didn’t you hear? Mom’s proud of us!”

You shrug your shoulders.

“Echo,” you hear Trisha say with an unreadable tone. You glance up at her through your lashes. She smiles at you. “Silly girl. I’m proud of you, too! You’re one of my little geniuses, too, you know!”

Rapidly a smile forms on your face, and after a moment, you fling yourself at Trisha, capturing her in a tight hug.

 

**...**

 

That same summer, an epidemic sweeps the country. A sickness comes—and takes her.

And just like that, you're alone again.

 

**...**

 

Three young children sit on the ground in front of a freshly dug grave. Their knees are pulled up to their chests, arms wrapped around them, and they look lost. Not physically lost, but like they have no clue as to what happens next. As to what to do with their lives.

Not that they can be blamed, that is. After all, they just lost their mother, and they have no other family left in the world, besides each other.

“Brother,” Alphonse begins softly, “Echo; I’m hungry, aren’t you?” He buries his face into his arms before glancing over at the others. “And it’s cold here. Let’s go home. Please?” He casts his eyes down to the ground. “Once Dad gets back, it’ll all be—”

“Don’t even talk about him!” Ed explodes, startling his brother, who looks over to see Ed glaring violently at the ground. “That bastard doesn’t care about us!” He lowers his voice. “He’s not our dad; he didn’t even come to Mom’s funeral.”

You stare at letters carved into the cold, grey stone that marks where Trisha lays.

**Trisha Elric  
1878-1904**

That’s all. That’s all that is left to remember the woman by. The woman who’d taken you in, the woman who’d saved you when you’d lost everything, the woman who’d cared for you no matter how difficult a child you’d been, the woman who’d loved you as if you were her own daughter.

You want to cry. You want it so bad; you have ever since it had first become clear that Trisha wasn’t going to get any better.

But you can’t. Your eyes have stayed dry, and even though you want the tears to flow, even though you want them to come out in a flood, washing away your sadness, your pain, they just... _can’t_.

So instead, you sit in front of a freshly dug grave, your legs pulled in and you hugging them tight, your mouth buried against your knees, silent and hurting and sad and angry and confused.

But not crying.

"You know,” Ed says in a strange voice, one you’ve never heard him use before. “There might be a way we can bring Mom back...”

You flinch. You know exactly what he’s talking about, and you’d be lying if you said you haven’t been wrestling with the idea yourself. You bring one hand up to your mouth and begin to gnaw at the nail of your pinkie. Pain follows the movement, seeing as all of your nails are already much too short—you'd bitten them all down to the nub days earlier.

Meanwhile, Al startles and exclaims, “But I thought it said in all the books we read that using alchemy to make people is something that you’re not supposed to do ever!”

Ed stands up slowly. “That’s right,” he confirms. “That’s why it’ll be our little secret.”

“Ed...”

The boy turns to look at you, but before you can speak, a little girl’s voice hesitantly rings out from the cemetery gates. “I thought I’d find you here.”

All three of you gasp and turn to look at the blonde-haired little girl who’d spoken. Winry. “What do  _you_  want, Winry?” Ed asks.

"You know what my grandma says? She says you shouldn’t cry for loved ones who’ve passed away, because when you do, it makes them feel sad in the next world, too.”

“We’re not crying!” Ed shouts.

You look up at him. His bangs hide his eyes. He’s in pain. You all are, of course, but... _Ed’s in pain_.

You rise slowly to your feet as if you were a thousand years old.

“And who are  _you_  to talk, anyway?” Ed taunts Winry cruelly. “Every time  _your_  parents go away somewhere, you cry like a little  _baby!_ ”

Winry blinks. “I—I do not!” she squeals. “I don’t!”

“Are you sure— _baby?_ ”

“I’m so stupid for worrying about you!” Winry yells. She starts running away. “I’m going home to tell Grandma not to make you any dinner!!”

“H—hey wait!” Ed shouts, running after her. “What’re you gonna do that for?! Hold up!!”

“Yeah,” Alphonse shouts, starting to run now, too. “Wait for us!”

You cast back one long, sad glance at Trisha’s grave before you start to run.

_I’m sorry...Mom..._

 

**...**

 

 “You were reading those weird books in the middle of class again,” Winry accuses. “You need to pay attention to the lessons!”

“Leave us alone, will ya?” Ed complains.

“So, what kind of books are they, anyway?”

“It’s a secret!” Al chuckles.

“In other words, it’s none of your damn business, Winry.”

“Come on!” she whines. “It’s no fair! You guys are always keeping secrets!”

Al chuckles again as he runs up to join you and Ed. “Bye Winry!”

“Hey!” Winry hollers behind you. “I almost forgot! Grandma wanted me to tell you she’s making stew tonight!”

Al turns around and cheers. “Yay, stew!!”

Ed doesn’t turn around. Neither do you. He waves.

" _Bye_ , Winry," he says pointedly.

"Ed, be nice," you chastise him. Then, to Winry, you shout, “Don't worry! We’ll be there!”

 

**...**

 

   
“You know,” Ed says excitedly, “whoever invented stew must’ve been some sort of genius. It’s even got milk in it and it  _still_  tastes good!”

You smirk up at him from where you’re sprawled out on your back on the floor of the room that all three of you share. “I think you’re too easily impressed,” you tease.

Ed grins above his book, rolling his eyes at your pun before continuing. “Someone came up with the idea to pour milk into vegetable soup for the first time, right?” he asks eagerly. “That’s a leap of imagination—the kind a scientist needs to be able to make!”

You tilt your chin up thoughtfully and nibble absentmindedly on a fingernail. “Yeah, I guess that’s true.” Al nods in agreement.

“Of course it is!” Ed looks almost frenzied. “Just one leap, that’s all it takes! That’s what we need to figure out human transmutation!”

 

**...**

So, together, you begin looking for the key that will unlock the secrets of human transmutation and bring Trisha back to life. You train with an alchemy teacher to prepare your bodies as well as your minds.

It takes years of constant effort, but you want to see her smile again. You want to go back to your lives with her, the way things used to be. That’s what drives you guys, day and night.

And then one day,  _we're ready_.

 

**...**

 

“Water, 35 liters,” Ed rattles off. “Carbon, 20 kilograms. Ammonia, 4 liters. Lime, 1.5 kilograms. Phosphorus, 800 grams. Salt, 250 grams. Saltpeter, 100 grams. Sulfur, 80 grams. Fluorine, 7.5 grams. Iron, 5 grams. Silicon, 3 grams.”

You help Ed pour the mass mixture into a container. “Now for the constructional formula,” you say, forcing your voice not to shake and give away how terrified you are. You have a sick, ugly feeling in your stomach, and you want to throw up. But your voice is strong and steady, and your face reveals nothing but confidence. The only signs of your true feelings are the ones you can’t control—and even those are subtle. Your legs tremble under your baggy cargo pants, and your hands shake—more so than they usually do, that is.

Carefully, precisely, the three of you draw the complex transmutation circle, filling in the alchemical symbols, and Al writing in the words in a sloping print.

**_These shall appear before you, perfect white and many more others._ **

**_And after the perfect white grey false citrine._ **

**_And after that there shall appear the red body._ **

**_These the elements are turned into fire by circulation._ **

**_For the wheel of our philosophy you have turned._ **

**_But of this course the Sun,_ **

**_And as the beginning of yours,_ **

**_So in the East after them._ **

As he writes, Ed glances at you from the corner of his eyes, and sees you doing the same to him. He grins impishly at you and you roll your eyes at him, playing casual.

He slips his hand into yours and squeezes, trusting you with the knowledge that he’s afraid.

You squeeze back—you’re scared, too.

When it is finished, Ed and Al stand in the middle of the circle. “Now, for some soul data.” They prick their fingers with a knife and let the blood drip into mixture.

The three of you drop to your knees and place your palms down on the edge of the circle. Ed is in the middle, with you on one side and Al on his other. “Okay, this is it guys,” Ed says breathlessly.

You force yourself to smile, and try to swallow back your nausea. “We can do this,” you say, your voice finally starting to show your nerves, coming out thick.

You bite your lip as you let your power flow out. The chalk circle begins to glow as blue and black alchemy crackles through it.

The three of you keep your eyes focused on the mixture in the center of the circle. For a moment, your stomach eases and your heartbeat stabilizes. Your heart soars, and for just an instant, you think that it’s working, that you and the boys will finally be able to go back to life the way it used to be, and that you will finally be able to see Trisha again, to see her smile, to have another one of her hugs.

But then an eerie, black mist begins to rise from the edges of the circle, and your nausea comes back with a vengeance.

The mist solidifies, and swirls slowly around the three of you.

“Ed,” you murmur, just loud enough so that Ed can hear you. “Something’s wrong. This isn’t what’s supposed to happen.”

As if confirming your warnings, Al’s voice rings out fearfully over the crackling of alchemy. “Ed, Echo, something doesn’t feel right!”

For a few moments, all that happens is the swirling black mist, but then the ground splits open inside the circle and an eye appears. Little, shadowy black hands sprout from the ground a writhe around in the air, and tears of fear pool in the corners of your eyes. Your heart is beating faster and harder than it ever has before, and you feel sure that it’s going to burst.

Suddenly, a few of the hands grab onto one of Al’s wrists, which breaks off with a crack. His scream is shrill and full of too many emotions to read.

“ _Al!_ ” you and Ed scream.

Ed begins to lurch forward, toward his brother, but the hands grab onto his right leg, and it shatters just below the knee. He collapses with a scream of his own.

“ _Ed!!”_ you scream, sobbing. “ _Al!_ ” You try to lift your hands from the circle, to shut off your alchemy that crackles black through the circle, fueling this madness, but you can't. Your hands stay stuck on the ground, and your alchemy continues to pour out of you like an open faucet. “ _No!_ ” you scream. “ _No! Stop! Stop it! Leave them alone! Leave them alone, God damn it!”_

The hands reach toward you and you flail wildly, trying to escape, trying to stop their approach, but your hands and knees are glued to the ground. All you can do is watch helplessly as the black hands grab at your face, caressing softly, gently, like a lover’s fingers.

And then your right eye explodes in its socket.

Your scream is so loud that it hurts your ears. You feel the hot red blood come pouring down your cheek, see it pooling on the ground in front of you, and you are painfully aware of the gaping darkness in one side of what was once your vision. The pain is indescribable.

_It can’t be!_   _A—a rebound?!_

“ _Brother!_ ” Al screams. “ _Echo_!”

Both of you look up to see him being dragged into the center by the shadow hands. He thrashes, trying to escape.

“ _Help!!! Ed! Echo!”_  The hands begin shatter his other arm, then start on his head. The boy is screaming, and screaming, and his pupils are so wide with fear that you can’t see the hazel in them at all.

“Al!”

Hands stretch across the circle, and they are so close,  _so close_ , and then the world explodes into white.

 

**...**

 

_Whiteness._

It is on whiteness you stand, with whiteness all around. Behind you is a massive stone door, floating above the ground with a dark shadow below it.

You blink your eyes. Both of them.

“Al?” You look around. “Ed?” Your brow furrows. “Wait. What was I just doing? What was...?”

A strange, garbled voice startles you from your thoughts, speaking with many voices at the same time.

_**hello** _

You look in the direction of the voice and see a the shadowed outline of a person. They are pure white, and has no features. They sit with one knee up, resting their elbow on it casually.

“...Who are you?” you ask, confused.

They lift their arms above their head.

_**oh, i’m so glad you asked** _

A chill runs down your spine, and you suddenly really wish you  _hadn’t_  asked.

_**i am called by many names** _

_**i am the world** _

_**i am the universe** _

_**i am god** _

_**i am truth** _

_**i am all** _

_**i am one** _

_**and i am also you** _

They reach out a shadowed hand and point to you eerily.

Your long, wild red hair whips around in the sudden gust of wind as the massive doors swing open silently. You turn around slowly and see the utter blackness behind the door, and the same massive eye that you saw when you...

When you _what?_

_Why can’t you remember anything?!_

You feel a sick, ugly feeling in your stomach, like your insides are trying to tie themselves in knots.

_**you have dared to knock on the door** _

_**and now the door is open** _

Black, shadowy hands shoot out from the darkness and grab at you. You scream and try to run away, but they wrap around you, grabbing you roughly and dragging you, kicking and screaming, to the doors.

_**quiet, girl** _

_**this is what you wanted, isn't it?** _

You scream and claw at the air, searching for a handhold, but find no purchase. The doors swing shut, locking you inside.

_**i will show you the Truth** _

 

**...**

 

The hands disappear in the blackness and you are plummeting—falling, falling, falling, never landing, tumbling endlessly through the oppressive darkness, and you’re screaming. In terror, in excitement, in anticipation.

And then the world explodes, and you’re in agony, in so much pain, and please, make it stop, please, please, it’s too much, you can’t handle it, make it stop, make it stop, make it stop...

It’s like all the information in the world—in the universe—is being shoved into your brain at once. It’s chaos, it’s pain, it’s cruel, it’s too much.

“ _Stop!_ ” you hear somebody screaming. “ _Stop! Make it stop! I can’t handle this!_ ”

Oops. That’s you, isn’t it?

“ _Stop! I’m sorry! Please! No more!_ ”

You’re fading, fading, dying, and this isn’t how you wanted to go out. You wanted to go out with a bang, in a blaze of glory, fighting. Not crying, whimpering, forgotten.

Not like this.

Not now.

You feel your body dissolving, crumbling into nothings, into the darkness, into the oppressive knowledge. “ _No! Stop! What’s happening to me?! Please, I don’t want this!”_

Then, in a single instant, everything clears, everything makes sense. Just for an instant.

You see Trisha at the end of the swirling spirals of knowledge being forced into you, and you scream again, reaching for her, tears in your eyes, begging for her to save you again.

“ _Mom!!!_ ” you scream to her, reaching out. “  _Mom, please!!!_ ”

Her hand reaches out, and just before you connect, it’s all gone.

She’s gone.

 

**...**

 

You’re in the whiteness once more, hand still extended, body whole and thrumming with something that goes far, far beyond fear. Mortal terror, maybe.

_**how was it?** _

You lower your arm and walk slowly to stand before the now-closed door again. “I...” you clear your throat. “I see. So our theory of human transmutation...it isn’t wrong. It  _can_  be done, it’s  _possible_.” You rest your palms on the door. A dark grin twists your face. “We’re just missing something!” you exclaim. “Doing something wrong! All of the answers, they’re right here! Right here, behind this door!  _Please_ —!” you shout, whirling to face Truth. “I—I need to go back! Show it to me again!”

Truth rises behind you, and you turn to face her.

_**i can't do that** _

_**i’ve already shown you everything i can for the toll you’ve paid** _

 

“...Toll?”

_**this** _

Black alchemy crackles along what would be Truth’s face if she had one. Then as a single, bright green eye appears on the left side of said face, your heart and stomach twist in horror.

Because it’s  _your_  eye.

And then, in that same instant, your eye—that very same eye, still where it belongs on your face—explodes in its socket, shattering, dissolving, breaking into nothing.

You shut your eyes—no, wait, God please no,  _eye_ —and let out a strangled scream as you claw at the gaping hole where the object used to be. When you open your eyes— _eye_ , you remind yourself again with a sob—Truth is inches in front of you, her— _your_ —single eye glinting with evil and a huge, satanic smile spanning the entire bottom half of her face.

_**it’s the law of equivalent exchange** _

Her voice rises in pitch.

_**right, young alchemist?** _

 

**...**

 

You’re lying on the floor in your house, clutching your empty eye socket, trying to stop the waterfall of blood pouring out. You’re sobbing, whole body thrumming in pain, pain like nothing you’ve ever felt before, and Ed is screaming, keening, a horrible, aching wail of agony, and— _oh god_. His leg is gone, it’s gone, and he’s clawing at the bleeding stump. The floor is flooded in red, red, red, so much red, and it’s impossible to tell where your blood ends and his begins.

“No,” you choke out. “No! NO!”

“This—” Ed hiccups, “this is wrong! This isn’t—”

“This isn’t how it was supposed to happen!”

“Somebody! Somebody, please,  _help!_ ”

“Mom! Mom, help us! Please Mom...”

You and Ed look toward the middle of the circle, and you want to throw up again—but in a different way than before. Because that...that  _thing_  in the circle, that  _thing_  you’d created...it isn't human.

It isn't Trisha.

You hear Ed whimpering as the light from the circle finally dies. The creature reaches out what is probably an arm, but the limb flops down weakly. It makes a sort of odd, choked coughing sound, and black, thick blood spatters out from its mouth, pooling around it, and then the thing is still and silent.

You’ve just killed your mom. She was at peace, and you dragged her back, tortured her, and then killed her.

Oh god. Why? Why had you done this? What was  _wrong_  with you, you sick little shit? And you know what, maybe Trisha doesn’t like you to use bad words like that, but  _fuck_ , because she’s gone now, and for real this time.

“No,” you croak. “ _No!_  This is wrong!”

“This isn’t what we wanted!” Ed howls.

You’re wailing, and Ed is screaming, and Al is—

_Al!_

You look up to see Al’s clothes and shoes lying neatly on the floor.

_You’re too late._

Ed notices at the same time as you, and you let out twin screams of agonizing guilt.

_Your fault!_ a little voice mocks from inside your head.  _Your fault! You did this to him! You were selfish, you wanted to play god, to challenge god, so this is the price you pay!_

You notice an empty suit of armor standing upright in the corner. You stagger to your feet, falling over immediately, nearly passing out from pain, dizziness, blood loss. But you rise again, because you have to, to make things right, to save your little brother.

You stagger over to the armor, collapsing against it, intentionally knocking it over with the force of your body, the head clattering off once it hits the ground. You try to get up again, to drag it over to Ed so he can help you, but your legs just don’t work right anymore.

So you crawl.

You grab the suit in one arm and drag yourself back over to Ed, who’s white as a sheet. You’re sure that you look no better—maybe even worse, missing one eye and blood caked over your whole face.

You dip your fingertips in the blood pooling the floor and, with shaky hands, you begin to draw the seal on the inside of the back of the neck in the armor. When he realizes what you’re doing, Ed helps you. When the last, curved, question-mark-like line is in place, you force yourself to sit upright, helping to drag Ed into a similar position.

“Give him back,” he pleads. “He’s my brother! Take my leg! Take my arm!”

“Take whatever you want! Anything, _you can have it!!_ ” you scream. Tears stream down both your and Ed’s faces. “ _Just_   _give him back!_ ”

“He’s our little brother—!”

“ _He’s all we have left!_ ”

You and Ed clap your hands together like you’re giving each other a double high-five, and then slam your hands down on the armor.

The world explodes into white again.

 

**...**

 

The knock sounds at the door, and Den starts barking loudly. “Oh, hush, Den,” Granny scolds roughly. “Don’t bark at our guests!” She opens the door. “Hello—?”

A man with spiky black hair and dark, dark eyes sweeps into the room, followed not long after by a woman with short blonde hair and huge brown eyes.

“Hey!” Granny shouts, “what is this?! You have no reason to come barging in here!”

The man looks around the room and nearly gasps when he finds what he’s looking for.

Sitting in a beam of sunlight pouring in through the window are two very small, very young children, a boy and a girl. Neither can be older than eleven at most. Both are in wheelchairs.

The boy has short blonde hair hanging in his face, blocking his eyes. He is missing his right arm and his left leg.

Beside him is a girl with long, choppy red hair. As soon as the man enters the room, you look up and fix him with a glare that promises death. You have a thick bandage covering your left eye—or, he guesses, lack thereof. Your right sleeve hangs awkwardly at your chair—you’re missing an arm, too.

The man stomps up to Ed and, ignoring his dull golden eyes that look up at him with dread, he grabs him by the front of his shirt and jerks him up from his chair, holding him in the air by his face and glaring a glare not that different from yours.

“We went to your house—we saw the floor!” the man growls. “What was that? What did you do?!”

You force yourself to your feet and deepen your glare, balling your fist at your side, clenching it so hard that your knuckles go white. “You take your hands  _off_  of him, you bastard!” you hiss at him, through clenched teeth. "Or  _I swear to fuck,_  I will kill you myself."

Your legs shake—you’re still weak, and standing is so, so hard. You can't even walk yet, much less throw a punch.

But he doesn't know that.

The man’s grip loosens infinitesimally, and then even more so as the boy in his grasp wilts, tears pooling in eyes, which drop to the floor, hiding below his bangs.

He almost drops the boy completely when a huge suit of armor grips his shoulder gently. “We’re sorry,” in says softly, in a young boy’s voice. “We didn’t mean it. We’re sorry,” he repeats. “We’re sorry...”

“Wait...” the man says, so softly that the words are nearly a whisper. “Are you...?”

 

**...**

 

“This is a surprise, to say in the least,” Mustang says quietly. He, Ed, you, and Granny are all sitting around the table—you at Ed’s side, so close that your wheelchairs touch—and Al standing behind you two. “I heard reports that there were two brilliant alchemists living in this town, so I came to check them out. The last thing I expected was two children skilled enough to attempt human transmutation.” He looks up at Al. “Or skilled enough to bond a soul to a suit of armor.” He fixes a stare on Granny Pinako. “I’d say they’re both more than qualified to become State Alchemists,” he says smoothly. “Should they choose to accept the position, they’d be required to serve the military in times of national emergency. In return, they’ll receive privileges and access to otherwise restricted materials. Given time, they may even find a way to get their bodies back. What’s more—”

Granny cuts him off by tapping her pipe loudly on the table. “Right after they came stumbling to my door, half-dead and covered in blood, I went over to their house to see for myself what’d happened. What was there...” Granny barks out her next words. “Whatever it was, it wasn’t human!” She grits her teeth, seething. “Alchemy created that abomination—it nearly killed them! And you want to throw those kids headlong into it?! Would you really have them go through that kind of hell again?!”

“I’m not forcing you,” Mustang tells you and Ed. “I’m merely offering you the possibility. Will you sit in those chairs, wallowing in self-pity or self-hate? Or will you stand up and seize the opportunity the military can give you?” He squares his shoulders. “If you believe the possibility exists to get your bodies back, you should seek it out—keep moving, whatever it takes. Even if the road ahead lies through a river of mud.”

He stares into Ed’s eyes first, and then into yours. Then he stands up and shows himself the way out.

 

**...**

 

_(Outside POV)_

Not long after, in the carriage back to Central with her commanding officer, she asks, “Will they be coming?”

“They’ll come,” Mustang promises her smoothly, silkily.

“That girl,” she replies doubtfully. “It’s like there was nothing left in her but anger. Like she’d been swallowed by it.” She casts her eyes downward. “And that boy. I’ve never seen anyone look so...defeated.”

“That’s what you saw?” Mustang smirks. “No," he says confidently. "There was fire in those eyes."

 

**...**

 

“Are you sure you won’t regret this?” Granny asks Ed.

He grunts. “My mind’s made up.” He sits on the hospital bed, missing arm bandaged heavily, and his leg the same way below the blankets covering him.

“And I’m sure you feel the same way, don’t you?” she asks you, in a similar condition on the bed next to his.

You grin unhappily. “You know me, Granny,” you confirm. “I don’t have time for regrets.”

“How long with the surgery and rehabilitation take?” Ed asks.

“Hmm.” Granny considers the question. “I’d say about three years, more or less.”

A look of pure determination comes over the both of you. And the same time, you both blurt out, “I’ll do it in one!”

And then you look at each other, both with a faint blush.

Granny Pinako has to suppress a smile. “You’ll have yourselves spitting blood, you know that?” She is greeted by twin nods of resolution.

“Al,” you say to the suit of armor sitting between your and Ed’s beds, “you’ve just gotta hang in a little longer, okay? We’re gonna get you your body back—I promise.”

“Right,” the boy replies. “And while we’re at it, we’ll get yours and Ed’s back too.”

A small smile graces your lips as you give him a single nod.

 

**...**

 

True to your words, exactly one year later, you and Ed face off against Al. The boy throws a punch aimed for Ed’s head and the boy ducks. You take the opportunity to spring into the air and aim a kick at his helmet, which is blocked by his arm. Instead, you use that arm as a platform to flip backward from, landing gracefully on your feet. Ed swoops in, aiming a high kick at his brother’s face, and the younger boy dodges quickly.

Finally, the battle ends with Ed’s forearm held back firmly by one of Al’s bigger ones, and you being held upside-down by your ankle—much to your displeasure, of course.

“Seems like you two are in perfect shape!” Al says happily, watching Ed ball his metal fist and you wiggle your automail fingers.

“Yeah,” Ed agrees. “Now we just need to try some alchemy!”

You nod in agreement. You’ve grown very used to living life with only one eye, though it can still be hard in combat, because an opponent can easily slip into your (very large) blind spot if you’re not careful. But besides that, you are accustomed to the black fabric eyepatch that rests fully over your missing left eye.

“I guess it’s been a while since the last time we’ve used it,” you continue, peering at your mismatched hands. “Not since...”

“Not since the night we tried to bring Mom back,” Al finishes for you.

Ed closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before clapping his hands together. There is the slightest pause during which nothing happens—but then blue alchemy crackles loudly through the air, and then Ed’s automail arm is sharpened into a point at the end, making a sort of makeshift sword. “Yeah, see? That’s right on the money!” he boasts, examining the weapon with interest.

“Whoa, Brother, that’s amazing!” Al cheers giddily. “You didn’t even use a transmutation circle! You perform alchemy the same way teacher does!”

Ed stares at his brother blankly. “You can do it too, can’t you?”

“ _Me?_ ” Al scoffs. “Nah! No way!”

“So you didn’t see it, did you?” he asks quietly.

“...See what?”

Ed watches the point of his blade. “Uh...never mind,” he mumbles before turning to face you. “What about you, Echo? Can you do it without a transmutation circle?”

You tilt your head to one side thoughtfully. “I dunno,” you say. “Guess there’s only one way to find out, huh?” You smirk. “Here goes!” You clap your hands together and place your palms on the ground.

Your unique black alchemical sparkles flare as a small crater forms below the three of you. At the same time, a black, sparkly, dusty mist forms around you and the boys, making it difficult to see. Concentrating hard, you manipulate the particles to gather in some places, sending shadowy figures darting through the mist.

Your focus is shattered when a wrench appears out of nowhere, slamming into Ed’s head with a hollow ringing sound. The misty illusion falls harmlessly to the ground in a thick, black, ashy soot-like grime.

As Ed cowers on the ground, clutching his now-throbbing head, Winry screams at him from the balcony. “ _Hey, you!_ ” she yells angrily. “Don’t mess up my automail!! Do you know how hard I worked on that?!”

“Well if it’s half as hard as you throw a wrench, I’d be surprised!” he groans from the floor. You can't help but chuckle as he hauls his ass up from the dirt, still rubbing his head. “For  _real_ ,” he complains. “For once you could try acting more like a girl and less like a gear-head.”

This does nothing to ease Winry in her fuming. “You think I’m a gear-head, then that’s fine! But you two had better get used to it!” She places a hand on her chest and glares at the two. “Because as long as you’re wearing  _my_  automail, you’re stuck with this gear-head whether you like it or not!”

Well then, this is certainly news to you and Ed. And as much as you liked Winry, well...you aren’t so sure that it’s  _good_  news.

 

**...**

 

“These silver pocket watches will serve as proof of your state certification,” Mustang informs you and Ed, handing each of you a pocket watch engraved with the Amestrian insignia. “These envelopes contain certificates of your appointment.” He flips through the papers on his clipboard before releasing a short chuckle. “It would seem our Führer is not without a certain sense of irony.”

You raise an eyebrow skeptically from your seat on the couch next to Ed. “What does that mean?” you ask around your thumb.

“Nothing,” Mustang mutters. “Congratulations! You’ve just officially become dogs of the military." He passes you and Ed a piece of paper.

“By order of Führer King Bradley,” Ed reads aloud, you peering over his shoulder, “this document certifies that Edward Elric and Echo Slade are appointed to the post of State Alchemist, and are hereby appointed the titles  **Fullmetal** and  **Smokebomb** , respectively.”

He stops reading. “Fullmetal?”

“Smokebomb?” you ask at the same time.

“That’s right,” Mustang confirms, still sitting at his desk with his chin propped up on his hands. “Along with their commission, State Alchemists also receive a code name. Officially, you will now be known as the Fullmetal and Smokebomb Alchemists.”

A grin twists Ed’s face. “I like that,” he says smugly.

You nod to yourself in agreement with your own name. “Nice and mysterious!" you mumble.

_The Smokebomb Alchemist..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Echo's alchemy is focused on the deconstruction stage of alchemy. She is able to deconstruct any material into a form of black dust, which she is then able to move at will.


	4. The Price of Their Sins

_“I still have too long a life ahead to get rid of these feelings, right? I want to try doing over the things I’ve left undone. I thought I was running after something carried over from my dreams, yet I’m stumbling into people on this narrow, winding road. It’s not like I want to go back to the way things were back then; I’m just searching for the sky I’ve been losing. Here’s hoping you’ll understand. Stop making that sad face as though you were a victim. Sins don’t end in tears; you have to carry the pain forever. Who am I waiting for in this maze of emotions with no way out in sight? I want to purge myself more simply, as if writing in a blank notebook. What is it I want to escape from? ...Is it reality? It makes me want to scream that we’re alive for things to come true. Can you hear me? I can’t put up with playing it safe. ...I’ve got nowhere to go home to! I’m always grateful for kindness; that’s why I want to grow stronger (I’m on the way). I even welcome this pain for the things I miss.”  
—Yui, Again_

**...**

“God’s children would ever roam this land. Pray and thee shall be seen. Those who have lost their way, the sun god Leto shall surely...”

You roll your eyes at the voice droning on and on from the radio. “So what are you guys, anyway,” the man behind the counter asks. “Street performers or something?”

Ed does a spit-take. “Seriously? Do we look like _street performers_ to you _?_ ”

The man looks a little confused. “Well, _yeah_ , that’s why I asked!”

Ed scowls. “Let’s go Echo, Al.”

You and Ed slide off the tall bar stools, but as Al stands up, his helmet knocks into the top of the stand, sending the man’s radio crashing to the floor, where it shatters.

“ _Hey!_ ” the man shouts. “ _Easy!_ I didn’t mean nothing by it!”

You grimace. “Sorry, sir. Accident, I swear. We’ll fix it!”

“How’s that? It’s smashed to hell!”

Ed chuckles. “Watch and learn, Gramps.”

Al draws his transmutation circle around the broken radio. “Alright,” he says, conscious of the ever-growing crowd around you. “Here goes!”

There is a swirling blue light, and then the radio is back together again, the voice droning on and on as though there had never been anything wrong.

_Guess we are street performers after all._

“There, see?” Ed points flashily at the repaired radio, sparkling like Mister Armstrong (only less fabulously). “How’s that?”

“Amazing!” the food-stand man murmurs. “It’s a miracle! You’ve been touched by the sun god, just like Father Cornello!”

You sweat-drop. “Touched by _whom?_ ”

“It’s no miracle,” Al explains. “It’s alchemy!”

“Oh,” someone in the crowd says. “So you three are alchemists. Yeah, I’ve heard of them!”

Ed folds his arms over his chest smugly. “Well then, maybe you’ve heard of us! This is Echo Slade, and we’re the Elric brothers!”

The man behind the counter taps his chin thoughtfully. “Echo and the Elric brothers, you say?” he repeats. “Wait, I do know those names! The Smokebomb Alchemist, and her buddy Fullmetal, is that right?”

You flick your thumb under your nose proudly, watching Ed as the crowd surges around you and Al. He is smirking smugly, not noticing the fact that the recognition is not being given to him, but rather to you and his brother.

“No, um, it’s not me!” Al says hurriedly.

The whole crowd stops and looks at Ed. “What?” one man calls out. “You mean it’s the little guy?”

“WHO’S LITTLE?!?! SAY IT TO MY FACE, I DARE YA!!!!”

**...**

“So, what’s with this dude on the radio?” you question after having calmed Ed down.

The man who works at the food stand is still dazed. “T-that’s our leader, Father Cornello.”

“...there is light,” Cornello drones on. “When in darkness, turn thy face unto...”

“When Cornello came to town,” one of the townsfolk explains, “he started teaching us the ways about the sun god, Leto.”

“He grants eternal life to those that are faithful.”

“He can resurrect the dead.”

“His miracles are proof that what he says is true!”

You and Ed exchange meaningful glances. “So this guy is claiming he can bring the dead back to life?” he asks.

“Well then,” you continue. “That’s something I’ve just _gotta_ see.”

**...**

“So that’s it, huh?” Ed says doubtfully, glancing at the large crystal flower the man had transmuted. “What do you think?”

“There’s nothing _to_ think,” you state. “That’s alchemy.”

“But he’s ignoring the law of Equivalent Exchange!” Al murmurs. “He should have only been able to transmute that flower into something of equal mass!”

“He’s changing organic matter into inorganic matter,” Ed continues thoughtfully. “He shouldn’t be able to do that. Unless...”

“Yeah, there’s just one way,” you declare, your eyes zeroing in on the ring the man wears. “Bingo.”

**...**

“O merciful god,” the young woman pleads to the statue above her. “Please hear my prayers. I beg of thee, please bring him back...”

“So this is the mighty sun god Leto,” you declare. The woman starts and turns around to face you. Her purple eyes appraise you from beneath her pink bangs. Her black hair cascades down her back, and her long, simple white dress hides her body. “Welcome,” she greets softly. “Are you interested in Letoism?”

“Nope,” Ed says casually. “Can’t say I am.”

“We’re not really the religious type,” you inform her.

“Well,” the girl says, bowing her head with a small smile. “I'm sorry to hear that. To know God is...to know _hope_. If we believe in divine grace, then through him, all things are possible. If _you_ two believed—” The woman turns her intense gaze on you and Ed, and she brings up a fist. She sparkles with sincerity. “If you two believed, I’m sure Leto would bless you and make you grow taller!!!”

“WHAT’S THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?!?!”

“Hey, calm down, guys!” Al gushes. “I’m sure she’s just trying to help!”

You huff, irritated, and throw yourself down on one of the benches. Ed sits next to you. “What about bringing the dead back to life?” he questions the woman. “Do you believe that’s possible, too?”

“Yes,” she breathes immediately. You can’t help but to admire her devotion, even if you don’t share it. “

Ed sighs and reaches into the pocket of his long red coat, pulling out a small black journal. “Water, 35 liters,” he rattles off hollowly. “Carbon, 20 kilograms.” You jerk—why does he still have that? He carries it with him all the time? “Ammonia, 4 liters. Lime, 1.5 kilograms. Phosphorus, 800 grams. Salt, 250 grams. Saltpeter, 100 grams. And various other trace elements.”

The woman looks utterly lost. Her eyes are glazed over and everything.

Ed claps the book shut loudly and bends over, resting his elbows on his knees. “That list represents the total chemical makeup of the human body for the average adult,” he tells her. “It’s been calculated down to the last microgram, but there’s still never been a reported success at creating human life. And you’re telling me something that modern science can’t do, you can do with prayer?”

“Put thy voice to god!” the woman urges him passionately. “And the prayers of the faithful shall be answered!”

Ed stretches lazily. “Did I mentioned all those ingredients I read off, well, down at the market, a kid could buy every one of them for the spare change in his pocket!” He aims a mirthful smirk at the ceiling. “As it turns out, humans are pretty cheap.”

“No, that’s blasphemy,” the woman replies shakily. “People, we are all children of god! Created in his image!”

Ed chuckles darkly. “You have to understand: alchemists are master scientists. We don’t believe in improvable concepts like creators or gods. We observe the physical laws that govern our world, to try to learn the truth. It’s ironic, really! Through the application of science, we have been given the power, in many ways, to play god ourselves!”

“So you’re putting yourself on the same level as God?!” the woman says hotly. “That’s just—sheer arrogance!!”

“You know, there’s an old myth,” Ed informs her. “About a hero who flew on wings made of wax. He thought he could touch the sun, but when he got too close, his wings melted and he came crashing back down to Earth. Right Echo? Al?”

“Ed, _stop it_ ,” you hiss at him. “You’re being cruel.”

Ed makes a face before springing up to his feet. “I’m sorry, Miss,” he apologizes. “This is difficult for me to ask you, but do you think your Father Cornello could even save an arrogant scientist like me?” He gives a mocking bow.

“Of course, that’s wonderful!” the woman cheers, clasping her hands together. “If anyone can lead you to the creator’s light, he can!”

**...**

“You should hurry,” the man tells you and the brothers, leading you to a large metal door. “Father Cornell is a busy man, as you can imagine. But you’re in luck,” he says, opening the door and allowing you to step through to the other side. “He’s decided to spare a moment to talk with you.”

“Yeah, thanks, we understand,” Ed babbles upon seeing the massive, eerie, torch-lit room. “We won't take too much of his time.”

“Good,” the man says ominously. “Then it’s agreed. We’ll make this quick.”

The doors slam shut behind you, and you look over your shoulder worriedly. You hear a click and whirl around so fast you get whiplash. The man who lead you hear is pointing a gun at Al. In the same moment, two spears slam down in front of you, crossed over each other, blocking any forward movement. A glance to the side shows Ed in the same position.

“Brother Krei!” the woman whom you now know as Rose, gasps. “What is this? What are you doing?!”

“Rose, these heathens have come to ensnare and discredit the Father,” he tells her. “They’re evil; this is God’s will.”

“Brother Krei...”

“Well, like you said,” Ed growls; “Let’s make this quick!” He kicks the spears out of his way and flips one of the men over his shoulder. You leap into action, whirling and landing a roundhouse kick at one of your guards’ stomach. He doubles over with a wheeze and you grab the back of his head, bringing his face down to meet your knee. He collapses, unconscious. The other guard lunges at you, and you dart to the side at the last moment. As he stumbles past you, you leap into the air and land a drop-kick on his back. He lands hard on the stone floor, groaning in pain.

You whirl around to help Ed, but he’s already gotten it taken care of. “Oh yeah!” he cheers, looking at the fallen man a few feet away, two large bumps already forming on his head. “Double strike!”

“What’s this commotion?” a somewhat-familiar voice calls out. You all turn to see a broad, bald old man stepping out of the shadows.

Father Cornello.

“Ah,” he says with a smile. “The Smokebomb and Fullmetal Alchemists. Welcome to the home of our sacred order.”

Rose’s fearful gaze turns into one of joy at the sight of the man. “Father Cornello!”

“I must apologize for my disciples’ behavior,” the priest tells you. “It would seem they’ve been misguided.”

“Thanks,” you snap sarcastically. “We’ll pretend I don’t believe you were the one guiding them. What happens now?”

“Have you come to learn the ways of Leto?”

“Well, there are a few things we’re curious about. Like how you’ve been using sub-par alchemy to deceive your followers.” You feel Rose’s shocked glance landing on you, but you ignore her.

“My dear girl,” Cornello says dismissively, “I don’t know what you mean! What you’re doubting I see as alchemy are miracles of the sun god, Leto.” He brings his hands together and parts them slowly. There is a beam of red light, and then in his palm rests a statue of Leto. “There, you see? Could alchemy create something out of nothing such as this?”

Rose looks amazed, but torn yet again as Ed counters his argument. “Yeah, that’s what we didn’t get at first. How can you perform alchemy that ignores the laws of Equivalent Exchange?” he asks rhetorically.

“As I said!” Cornello shouts, setting down the statue. “Because it isn't alchemy!”

“But then we started thinking about it,” you continue, as if Cornello hadn’t spoken at all. “If you had somehow managed to get your hands on a certain object designed to amplify alchemy...one that supposedly makes the impossible possible...” You glance up at him from beneath your lashes. “That would explain everything.”

“What?”

“We’re talking about the philosopher’s stone,” Ed hisses. “Your ring! That’s it, isn’t it? We’ve been looking for that.”

“Come now,” Cornello scoffs. “The ring is just a ring. I am God’s humble servant; it is from he alone that I derive my power!”

You click your tongue at the man as you and Ed begin striding toward him. “You’re still trying to sell us that garbage?” you ask. “Give it up, Cornello! We’ve got you all figured out!” You shrug casually. “Well, that’s too bad. If that’s the way you wanna play it, I guess we’ll just have to come up there and _beat_ the truth outta ya!”

“My,” Cornello growls. “You are quite the incorrigible heathens, aren’t you? Rose, dear.”

“Yes, Father?”

The Father smiles. “That gun there beside you. Pick it up.”

“Uh...” Rose hesitates. “O-okay...” She leans down and hesitantly picks up the weapon.

“Now, child,” Cornello continues. “I want you to shoot the Smokebomb and Fullmetal Alchemists.”

You and Ed glance at each other sharply. “No, I—!” Rose gasps. “Father, I can’t do that!”

“I am the sun god’s chosen emissary. _My_ word is the word of Leto himself.” A shadow crosses the man’s face as he cracks one eye open. “Shoot them, Rose. It’s God’s will.”

Rose shudders violently as she brings the gun up slowly. You and Ed stare the girl straight in the eyes.

“Why hesitate?” Cornello encourages. “When you lost your fiancée to that tragic accident...” Rose’s head shoots up, and there is pain in her eyes. “...who was it that saved you from the very depths of despair? Have you forgotten?”

Rose shakes violently. “I-it was you, Father.”

“That’s right,” Cornello praises. “It was _I_ who took you by the hand and led you to God’s light! And do you recall what it was that I promised you then?”

“You said if I had faith you’d bring him back to life!” Rose points the gun at Al with shaking hands.

“No, wait!” he shouts. “It’s not me, honest!”

Rose lowers the gun and turns her awed gaze onto Ed who's fuming, despite the serious situation. “I’m the Fullmetal Alchemist!” he shouts. “Not him! It’s _me_!!”

Cornello jerks in surprise. “Wait, what?! You’re kidding!!”

Rose aims the gun and Ed, who stares her in the eyes. “I’m sorry,” she stammers, “b-but I have to do this! I don’t have any choice!”

“He’s lying to you, Rose!” you shout at the girl.

“You’re wrong!” she yells back. “I’ve seen his miracles! Father Cornello will bring him back to life—I have faith!”

You open your mouth to argue again, but Ed’s voice cuts you off. “Fine,” he growls. “Then shoot.”

Rose’s eyes grow even wider, and she slowly brings the gun in toward her chest in shock.

“Ed,” you growl at the boy. “ _Really?!_ This is _so_ not the time!!!”

But there is a sudden exclamation and then a deafening _BANG_. You let out a scream, heart pumping so hard, you’re sure that it will explode, and then Al’s helmet flies off his shoulders. The boy lets out a shout and tumbles backward.

“Al!”

Rose looks scarred. She drops the gun to one side and brings her hands to her face, letting out a strangled scream.

“Good,” Cornello praises dully. “God Leto is pleased; you have done well, my child. Now: pick up the gun and shoot the other two.”

The still-headless Al sits up. “Haven’t you made her do enough already?”

“B-but, your head,” Rose stammers. “I t-thought—?!”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ed says blankly, holding Al’s helmet. “He’s pretty solid.” He raps his knuckles against Al’s armored chest.

“Or pretty hollow,” you mutter.

“Yeah, see?” Al says, hoping to reassure the girl. He leans down, showing her the empty armor. “No harm done!”

Rose clamps a hand over her mouth in terror. “An empty suit of armor that walks and speaks?” Cornello interjects. “Do you still doubt it, Rose? This unholy thing is an abomination! Evil of this kind must be purged!” He flips a switch on the wall behind him. “And I believe my chimera should be up to the task.”

Ed stands with his hands in his pockets. “So this is the kind of thing you do with a philosopher’s stone,” he comments, gazing at the creature. It has the front of a lion, the rear of a...dinosaur? (maybe?) and the tail of a lizard.

“That’s just sick,” you spit. “ _This_...now, _this_ is an abomination.”

“Anyway,” Ed sighs, clapping his hands together and stepping forward lazily. “Looks like I’ll need a weapon.” Cornello watches, deadpan, as Ed pulls his long spear from the ground. You repeat the motion and pull a few inches of ground up, exploding them into a particularly shimmery black dust, forming them into a single humanoid figure.

“No transmutation circles?!” Cornello splutters. “So the State Alchemist title isn't just for show! You truly are gifted! However...” Ed swings his spear at the beast. The lion’s front paw slices through the weapon like warm butter, lashing out against Ed’s leg, snagging against his leather pants and a good half of his long coat. “...your little spear is no match for chimera claws that tear through iron!” Cornello finishes gleefully.

Ed chuckles. “You shredded my pants!”

The chimera’s claws shatter. The creature itself then goes sailing backward as Ed’s foot connects solidly with its chest. Ed pauses with his leg in the air, allowing everybody to take a good, long look at the automail limb.

“I guess your chimera’s claws don’t do so well against steel!” you taunt.

“Fight them, you stupid beast!!” Cornello roars.

The chimera comes charging in again. One of your sparkly figures dances at the corner of the chimera’s vision, and it roars in anger, changing its direction and lunging at the shadow.

It passes clean through it, but the force of the attack sends the dust motes whizzing to far apart to be worth the effort of bringing it back, so you let the motes drift harmlessly to the floor.

While the creature is distracted, you come charging in from the side, fist swinging at its head.

However, you underestimate its speed, and it whips its head to the side, catching your forearm in its teeth, knocking you to the floor under its weight. It stands above you, gnawing on your left arm, and horrible screeching sound of metal-on-metal ringing in the air. “How’s that taste, kitty?” you grunt, struggling to push the heavy creature off of you.

The creature goes sailing off of you suddenly, as Ed offers you a hand up. You accept it gratefully and shrug your shredded jacket off your shoulders (again), showcasing your automail arm, before the both of you turn your angry glares on the chimera. It is lying on its back a few feet away, whimpering pitifully.

From above, you hear Cornello gasp. “Your arm! Your eye! Your leg! A boy trapped in armor!! I see!” The words are accompanied by a dark grin. It’s all becoming clear now. You did it, didn’t you?!” Ed pulls of his torn jacket as well, and your metal arms gleam next to each other. “The one thing even the most novice alchemist knows is strictly forbidden!” You can feel Rose’s horror-struck gaze on the two of you.

“Why don’t you come down here and try us?” Ed challenges the man. “We’ll show you real quick who the novice is!”

“Rose,” Cornello calls. The girl flinches, turning her attention on the Father. “This is the price of their sins. These fools attempted human transmutation! The greatest taboo for any alchemist! In their arrogance, they tried to bring someone from the dead back to life!” he explains, evidently forgetting that this is exactly what he’d promised the girl.

She remembers what Ed had been telling her earlier. _He thought he could touch the sun, but when he got too close, his wings melted and he came crashing back down to Earth..._ “Oh no,” she breathes.

“This is what happens when you try to play God, Rose,” you tell the girl, not looking at her. You brandish your metal arm. “God, or whatever the hell you want to call it. Take a good look, Rose. Is this really what you want?”

Cornello laughs from above. “So these are the great Smokebomb and Fullmetal Alchemists, Echo Slade and Edward Elric. Not even half a person—not even half a _child!_ ”

“And what are you?!” Ed snarls up at the man. “You’re just a phony that can't even do anything without a philosopher’s stone!”

“Cornello,” Al says, holding out a hand, speaking for the first time in several minutes. “We just want you to hand over the stone before anyone gets hurt.”

“Don’t be absurd!” Cornello scoffs. “Why? So you can use it for yourself? Please. If you fools are really so eager to play God—” The stone in his ring begins to glow, and an eerie red light starts to surround the man. “—perhaps I should send you to meet him, instead!”

Cornello transmutes his arm into a machine gun, and begins firing at the four of you. A cloud of black dust rises up around you and he ceases fire, seemingly confused.

When the dust drops, there is a stone wall shielding you and the others courtesy of Ed. “Yeah,” you say nonchalantly, “but the problem with that is that God and I? Well, we don’t get along all that well. So, thanks for the offer and all, but I'm gonna have to say ‘no thanks’.”

“And even if we went,” Ed pipes in, “she’d probably just send us right back here!”

Al scoops Rose up into his arms and takes off running. Cornello starts shooting at them, but Al carefully blocks Rose with his body.

“Come on, this way!” Ed shouts, clapping his hands together and slamming them against the wall and creating a door. The four of you burst out of the door and scare the life out of some people waiting at the other side.

You sprint off down the hallway.

**...**

You lounge against the wooden desk, hanging your head upside-down off the edge. Your hair is so long that a good few inches of the bottom lay on the floor. Ed sits perched on the wooden surface, legs crossed.

“God, what’s _taking_ him so long?” you complain. “I’m bored! We’ve been waiting here for half an hour!”

“This guy isn't exactly the sharpest tool in the shed, if you know what I mean. He—”

Ed is cut off by the sound of running footsteps. Cornello dashes past the open door and then stops, coming back around. “ _There_ you are, you infernal brats!” he shouts.

“Look, can we just cut the crap and talk here? All we want are some straight answers about the stone.” Ed makes a weird face. “Tell us what we need to know, and we’ll be on our way!”

“Of course,” you chime in, “if you’d prefer, we _could_ always get the military involved...”

Cornello growls, glancing around to see if anyone’s listening. He shuts the door behind him. “Ask your questions.”

Ed grins. “You could do anything with a philosopher’s stone, right? So why waste all that power performing phony miracles?”

“Because with each miracle, I can attract new believers to the order; believers that would lay down their lives for my sake. I’m slowly building an army—a legion of holy warriors, unafraid to die! In a few years, I’ll be ready to unleash the spineless horde upon the world!” The man’s eyes glow from the shadow that crosses his face. “And I'll use the philosopher’s stone to tear this country apart! Who knows—I might even carve out a slice for _you!_ ” The man begins to cackle madly, and then is startled by the two of you bursting out laughing too. “Wait, what’re you two laughing about?”

You wipe a tear from your eye. “I knew it,” you chuckle. “You really _are_ a novice, aren’t you?” You start laughing again as Ed holds up the ON/OFF switch, flipped to ON.

Cornello takes in the switch, then the microphone at his feet, and then his jaw drops. “You don’t mean that— _how long?! How long has that thing been on?!?!_ ”

“From the start,” Ed says mirthfully. “Your ‘believers’ heard every word!”

“How could you?!?!?!” Cornello screams. “You’ll pay dearly for this!”

“Sorry!” you shout, clapping your hands and using alchemy to send a blast of sharp dust at the man, severing the gun in half. “Just face it,” you growl. “You’re outclassed here!”

“I am without rival!” Cornello argues, trying to transmute the half a gun into...something. However, the transmutation fails, and when the red light fades, all that’s left is a blackened, shriveled arm with hunks of metal sticking out.

Ed gasps and the two of you launch yourselves to your feet. “It’s a rebound!”

“No!” Cornello roars. “I won't be disgraced like this!” His eyes begin to grow red and all the light fades from his corner of the room. “Now, children, behold the power of the true emissary of the sun god Leto!” His shoulders begin to bulge and twitch before growing massively—growing and growing and growing until he’s far bigger than even Armstrong.

There is a crash as he punches you and Ed straight through the stone wall, into the main room with the large statue of Leto. Cornello roars and aims a punch at the spot that you are standing in. However, his speed is in accordance with his size—he’s big and strong and slow, so you have time to roll out of the way.

But then, his other arm comes swinging in from the side.

“Echo!”

“My word is the divine word of God himself,” the beast that was Cornello utters. “My fist is the almighty fist of judgment!”

You struggle against the massive fist, bigger than your whole body. “Oh yeah? Fist of God, huh?” you hear Ed ask. “Well, if that’s what you want, then _you can have it!_ ” You hear him clap his hands together and then a mighty stone fist comes crashing down onto Cornello, slamming his body away from you, and down into the ground. You look up to see that the fist came from the statue’s hand. _The fist of God._

Ed marches over to Cornello, who’s cowering on the floor. He plants his hands on both sides of the man’s head and brings his face up. For a wild moment, you’re certain he’s going to kiss the man (a very, very, _very_ confusing moment, to say in the least!) but then he slams his forehead against the other man’s, and tears pool in Cornello’s eyes. “Shut up!” Ed roars. “Just give us the philosopher’s stone!”

In the man’s ring, the red stone turns ashy grey, slipping from the holder and smashing on the ground, blowing away moments later in a swirl of dust.

“What the fuck?” you murmur, having joined Ed at his side. “The stone is supposed to be of a perfect material!” You turn your stricken gaze on Cornello. “How the fuck did it just break like that?!”

“I-I don’t know!” Cornello pleads. “I don’t know anything about it! Spare me, please! I was wrong; _please_ , I _beg_ you!!”

“It’s a damn fake,” Ed mutters, rising to his feet.

“Please don’t,” Cornello blubbers. “I’m helpless without the stone! Spare me, ple-e-ease!”

“You mean we went through all of this—risked our lives for this one possible chance...and it’s a _fake?!_ ”

“So, uh...” Cornello laughs fearfully. “What about me?”

“We don’t give a fuck what you do!” you scream at the man. “Just get the fuck outta here!!!” The man squeals and scurries away on his hands and knees. “Like the rat he really is,” you mutter.

You sigh and rest your forehead against Ed’s flesh shoulder. “I guess we’ll have to keep looking,” you murmur.

He wraps his arm around you tightly and buries his face in your hair. “I guess so,” he whispers.

**...**

“And what about the stone?” Alphonse asks eagerly.

“A fake,” Ed says bleakly.

“Just like him,” you add.

Ed presses his knuckles against Al’s metal chest. “I’m sorry, Al. For a while there, I thought we’d really found a way to get your body back.” You just hang your head, feeling equally guilty.

And suddenly, a girl’s wild voice shouts out, shattering the moment. “Give me the philosopher’s stone!”

The three of you turn to find Rose pointing a gun at you with shaking hands. “Rose...”

“Like I was just saying,” Ed tells her, “it was a fake. It wasn’t real. Besides, it’s shattered now.”

Rose looks desperate. “Liar!” she screams. “You want to keep it for yourselves! Don’t you?! So you can use it on your bodies! That’s right!” she continues. “And so you can try to bring your mother back again!”

Ed flinches and then his face contorts with rage. Anger surges up in you. “You shut up!” you shout at her.

She flinches.

“People don’t come back from the dead, Rose,” Ed tells her, shaking. “Not ever.” He grits his teeth. Whispering, he repeats, “Not ever.”

Slowly, Rose sinks to her knees, and then leans forward onto her elbows, bowing her forehead to the ground. “But he promised me!” she sobs. “He said if I prayed it would happen!” Tears stream down her cheeks. “That hope was all I had left! What am I supposed to believe in now?!” You and the boys walk past her. “Tell me what to do!!” she begs. “Please!!!”

You and Ed stop at the top of the stairs. “We can't tell you that,” he says quietly. “You have to figure it out.”

“Stand up and walk,” you order her. “Keep moving forward.”

“You’ve got two good legs,” Ed continues. “So use them.”

“You’re strong enough to make your own path.”


	5. Dogs of the Military

_“I still have too long a life ahead to get rid of these feelings, right? I want to try doing over the things I’ve left undone. I thought I was running after something carried over from my dreams, yet I’m stumbling into people on this narrow, winding road. It’s not like I want to go back to the way things were back then; I’m just searching for the sky I’ve been losing. Here’s hoping you’ll understand. Stop making that sad face as though you were a victim. Sins don’t end in tears; you have to carry the pain forever. Who am I waiting for in this maze of emotions with no way out in sight? I want to purge myself more simply, as if writing in a blank notebook. What is it I want to escape from? ...Is it reality? It makes me want to scream that we’re alive for things to come true. Can you hear me? I can’t put up with playing it safe. ...I’ve got nowhere to go home to! I’m always grateful for kindness; that’s why I want to grow stronger (I’m on the way). I even welcome this pain for the things I miss.”  
—Yui, Again_

**...**

“The receiver on this thing’s seen better days,” Fuery says in response to Hawkeye’s question. “I think I’m gonna have to replace it.”

There is a ringing sound and then a gloved hand lands on the radio, enveloping the device in blue crackling alchemy. When it fades, the radio gleams, working perfectly and better than ever.

Fuery glances to the side in surprise, only to find you, Ed, and Al next to him. Ed grins at him, having been the one to fix the radio. “Hey!” Fuery exclaims. “It’s Ed, Echo, and Alphonse!”

“Welcome back, kids,” Riza says. You all turn to her happily (you especially—Riza Hawkeye may or may not be your ultimate hero). “Go on in,” she continues; “The Colonel is waiting for you.”

Ed’s face falls.

**...**

“Well done on the Liore case, you three; good work,” Mustang compliments, watching you and the boys over his interlaced fingers. “I appreciate your resolving the matter.”

“No big deal,” Ed sighs. “It’s not like we did it for you.”

“Right,” Mustang says dryly. “The philosopher’s stone.” The three of you instinctually perk up at the words. “Another false lead?”

There is a moment where Ed and Mustang stare into each other’s eyes. Ed looks away first. “Yeah,” he mutters. “After all that, the stone was a fake.”

“Yet somehow,” you interrupt, “the power it gave Cornello was real enough. He transmuted this huge chimera right in front of us.”

“I still wonder how he was able to use the stone to do that,” Al says, his voice echoing slightly inside his armor. “I’m not familiar enough with the field of bio-alchemy to really understand it.”

“Yeah,” Ed agrees. “I’m kinda curious about that, too. It might be worth looking into.”

“And back down the rabbit-hole we go,” you chirp. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll find something that’ll help us restore our bodies.”

At his desk, Mustang sighs. “It might help if you consulted a specialist,” he says. You all blink and stare at him, surprised.

“The Sewing Life Alchemist, Shou Tucker,” Mustang informs you and the boys, showing you his profile. “He's done some heavy research into chimera transmutation. I’ll introduce you.”

“You would do that for us?” Al asks, shocked.

Ed leaps to his feet, pointing at Mustang with one hand and waving the other around in the air angrily. “Okay, what’s the catch?” he demands. “You want something, don’t you?!”

The Colonel slams his hands down on the desk. “Don’t doubt my motives!” he growls. “I’m trying to repay you for your work on the Liore case!” His next words are spoken with tight control. “Doing you a favor is better than being indebted to you.”

**...**

Mustang, you, and the boys are riding in the rear of the car on the way to Shou Tucker’s house.

“Two years ago,” he informs you, “Tucker transmuted a chimera that could understand human speech. That earned him his certification as a State Alchemist.”

Chills dance down your spine. “Understand human speech?” you murmur. “You don’t mean...?”

“You mean it talks?” Ed exclaims. “A chimera?!”

“Right,” the Colonel replies quietly. “Supposedly, it only said one thing.”

There is a pause. “Well?” you demand. “What was it? Don’t leave us hanging!”

“‘I want to die’,” Mustang says grimly. Goose bumps rise up on the skin of your flesh arm, and you trace your fingertips over them, almost unconsciously. “After that,” he continues, “it refused to eat until it got its wish.”

**...**

Mustang rings the doorbell loudly. As you wait for Tucker to answer, you and the boys ogle at the man’s home. “Shit,” you breathe; “This house is _enormous!_ ” Ed nods his agreement, looking up to see the top of the building.

Suddenly, a huge shadow comes over him. He has no time to react before he is on the ground, pinned underneath a massive white dog.

Al fusses over his trapped brother while you fall backward, clutching your stomach with laughter. “Are you okay?” the younger boy asks. “Ed?”

“Daddy!” A young girl’s voice sounds from the door. “There are people here! Look!”

“Nina,” a man chastises, coming up behind her. “This is why I told you to keep the dog tied up.”

Ed sweat-drops beneath the dog as your laughter is reinstated.

**...**

“I’m sorry about the mess,” Tucker apologizes. “Ever since my wife ran out, this place has been a wreck. I’m not much of a housekeeper.”

In your head, you’re severely offended. _Are you saying that it’s a woman’s job to clean the house?!_

He slides you and Ed each a cup of tea before sliding into his seat across the table and sipping at his own cup. “Now that we’re properly settled in, let me say what a pleasure it is to meet you Echo, Ed. As the Colonel told you, I’m the Sewing Life Alchemist, Shou Tucker.”

“These two are interested in the field of biological alchemy,” Mustang explains, gesturing to you and Ed. “They would like to have a look at your research, if possible.”

“Oh, yes, certainly,” Tucker agrees. “I don’t mind.” You and Ed glance at each other with a victorious grin. “However,” Tucker adds suddenly, “if you want me to show you the tricks I’ve got up _my_ sleeve, it’s only fair that you show me the tricks you’ve got up yours as well. It’s the code we live by: Equivalent Exchange. Now, why are you interested in bio-alchemy?”

You open your mouth to speak, a long, extravagant story ( _read:_ lie) rapidly forming in your mind, but Ed hold up a hand to stop you.

So you stay silent as he speaks your ~~dirty~~ truth.

**...**

“You transmuted your _mother?_ ” Tucker asks with something close to disbelief. “As eleven-year-old children?” He examines your and Ed’s automail arms. They are slightly different, made to suit your body types, but their similarities greatly outweigh their differences. “So that’s what earned you the title of Fullmetal Alchemist,” Tucker says to Ed sympathetically. “You’ve had a rough time of it for kids so young.” You and Ed drop back into your chairs. Under the table, you place your hand reassuringly on his flesh leg, squeezing softly. Ed lets out a slight breath and places his hand on top of yours.

Tucker sighs and rises to his feet. “I can't say if it’s going to be of any use to you or not,” he says slowly, “but why don’t you go ahead and take a look at my laboratory?”

**...**

The room is dark and echo-y, bouncing the shrieking screams of chimeras around. It sounds like some sort of hell. All around are chimeras, trapped in cages (much to your relief, honestly). Freaks, mutants, failed experiments.

The instant you step into the room, your voice shrivels up and dies in your throat. Your green eyes are blown wide in fear and you bring you shoulders up to your ears defensively. You stay always a step behind Ed, one hand gripping his red coat in a vice-like grip.

“It’s kind of embarrassing,” Tucker says apologetically. “I’m fairly widely regarded as an authority on chimeras. But the truth is, it hasn’t actually been going that well lately.”

He crosses to the back of the room and opens up a set of double doors, flicking on the lights. Inside is a library, with shelves upon shelves upon shelves of books. You dart eagerly into the room, desperate to be away from the chimeras.

“Amazing!” Ed exclaims.

“This is my library,” Tucker explains. “Feel free to look around.”

“Alright!” Ed says, sauntering over to one of the shelves. “Let’s dive in! I’ll start with this shelf!”

Al points to another. “I’ll get this one,” he offers.

You walk over to a third shelf. Clearing your voice before attempting to use it, you force a steady tone before saying, “Then this one’s mine.”

You pick a random book off the shelf and plop down on the ground, opening it up and beginning to read. Dimly, in some part of the back of your head where thoughts happen but are not processed, you hear Mustang speaking: _I’m going to head back to work now. I’ll send somebody by to get you this evening._

A different voice: _They’ve got some ability to focus. I'm not sure they even know we’re here anymore. Quite a catch, these three. A few prodigies._

**...**

Several hours later, you’re surrounded by a pile a books scattered around you—almost like a throne—and immersed in yet another book. However, focused as you are, it’s become impossible to ignore the throbbing ache in your back and shoulders. This is why, when you hear a young girl giggling merrily, you decide to shut the book and go see what’s happening.

Well, what’s happening is Nina sitting on Al’s broad shoulders, laughing wildly while he bounces her around. “Here’s the deal!” you announce suddenly. If Al had a face, he’d be blushing at having been caught.

“I—um, Echo! Hi!” Al rambles. “You see, the thing is, um...”

“Here’s the deal,” you repeat, cutting him off. “I won't tell Ed... _if:_ you let me play with you!” You grin victoriously.

And this is why, not ten minutes later, does Ed come around to the sight of both you and Nina climbing around on Al’s armor. “Hey!” he shouts, startling you so bad that you fall off the armor, hitting the floor with a loud _thump_. You land mostly on your right elbow and hip, sending a dull flare of pain through you. You rub your aching hip and glare at him accusatorily. “You’re supposed to be reading!” he exclaims.

You puff up your cheeks at the boy. “Nina wanted to play,” you protest defensively, “and my shoulders were killing me. Give us a break, will ya?”

“Well, in case you forgot,” Ed glares, “we didn’t come here to play horsy.” Suddenly, a large, dark shadow crosses over the boy. He sweat drops and looks up to find Alexander looming over him (again). With a strangled shriek, he finds himself pinned beneath the massive white dog (again).

You try to hold back your laughter, and fail. Miserably.

From atop Al’s shoulders, Nina merrily chimes in with, “Alexander says he wants to play, too!”

Ed drags himself to his elbows under the dog. “That’s what you want, is it?” he grunts. He shakes the dog off and rises to his feet dramatically. “You’ve bested me twice, dog,” he growls. “Play time is over.” An anime vein pulses in his forehead as he roars at the white animal. “I will not lose this time! I, Edward Elric, will use my considerable powers to vanquish you!”

And he and the dog take off running. “You mangy mutt!”

**...**

In the library, Ed is yet again trapped below the friendly family pet. “I’m sorry,” you snort through your peals of helpless laughter. “What was that about using your considerable powers to vanquish him? How—how did that work out for you?””

“Hey chief, boss; your ride has arrived,” Havoc says, waltzing over to you, Nina, Alexander, and the boys, a cigarette hanging lazily from his mouth. He leans over, peering at Ed. “What’re you doing down there, Ed?”

“Urg,” he groans. “Let’s just say I’m taking a break from a long day of research.”

“After all that,” Tucker says, “you must be dog tired.” A shadow crosses over Ed’s eyes. Tucker chuckles. “Why don’t you three come on back tomorrow?” he suggests.

Nina claps her hands together gleefully. “Are you really going to come again?”

“We’ll come play some more tomorrow,” Al promises. “Okay Nina?”

“‘Kay!”

Outside, the four of you are trudging to the car when Havoc turns around. “Oh, Mister Tucker, I almost forgot,” he tells the man. “I’ve got a message for you; it’s from the Colonel. He says, ‘Don’t forget, assessment day is coming soon!’”

“Yes,” Tucker says flatly. “Please assure him I know.”

**...**

The next day, you and the boys are back in the library, hanging out with Nina. “Your mother left two years ago?” Al asks.

“Daddy says she went back to live at her parents’ house,” Nina confirms.

“Do you get lonely?” you ask the girl. “I mean, it’s just you and your dad, alone in this big house.”

Nina shakes her head. “Not really,” she says. “Daddy’s so nice, and plus I’ve got Alexander to play with, too!” She turns and wraps her arms around the big dog’s neck. Then she buries her face in his fur. “But lately,” she continues, a little sad, “Daddy’s been studying in his office all the time. I guess...I guess that does make me a little bit lonely.”

Ed closes his book and rises to his feet, yawning. He stretches for a moment. “Man, my shoulders are killing me,” he complains.

“Maybe you should try to move around some, Brother,” Al offers.

“Yeah,” Ed agrees, rolling his shoulders. “Not a bad idea, Al.” He points a finger at Alexander. “Hey! You mangy mutt!” he calls. Alexander jumps up with a short bark, pulling Nina up with him. She blinks at Ed. “Looks like you could use some exercise!”

You close your book with a small smile. _He’s going to make a great father one day._ “We should go too,” you tell the little girl.

**...**

Ed runs around the yard, screaming as Nina and Alexander, the little girl atop the dog’s mighty back, chase him around the yard. “Wait up!” she giggles.

“Come on, slowpoke!” Ed teases. He’d removed his jackets and now, in a black tank top like the one you always wear, his automail arm glints in the sun. He claps his hands together and transmutes the end of said arm into some sort of crude excuse for a toy, chasing the girl and her dog around with its snapping jaws.

Then, as Nina gets distracted by the joy of sliding down Al’s back, Ed’s mischievous gaze turns on you, where you’re relaxing in a patch of sunlight. As soon as you feel his gaze land on you, you narrow your eye at the boy. “Oh, no,” you warn. “Don’t you dare. Don’t even think about it!” But your warnings are for naught, as a moment later, Ed begins dashing toward you. “Aw, _Ed!_ ” you shout, leaping to your feet and taking off running. “I’m gonna kill you!”

You are aware of the fact that Nina, Alphonse, and Alexander are all watching as Ed sprints after you. To be fair, you don’t make the chase easy. You jump over bushes, slide under lawn chairs, and dart around a bird feeder, but eventually he catches you anyway.

He uses his body to slam into you, knocking you down and then pouncing. You wrestle on the floor with Ed, the both of you laughing the whole time. You shove his face into the dirt, and his hand might have kinda-maybe-sorta landed in an awkward place at one point, but it doesn’t matter. It’s all lost in the thrill.

At one point, Ed almost has you beat, lying across you horizontally so your stomachs are together. However, you are nothing if not hard to pin down, so, with effort, you bend your limbs, placing your hands and feet down flat on the ground and pushing up, _hard_ , into a bridge, throwing the boy off, and then scrambling onto your stomach immediately.

After a few minutes of writhing on the floor together ( _insert perverted giggle here_ ), you emerge victorious, straddling Ed’s waist and pinning his hands down triumphantly. You’re both breathing hard, and your eyes are locked. Ed’s are glaring, and your single green orb is sparkling with gleeful pride and gloating.

And then, suddenly, Nina is kneeling next to the two of you. “You guys should kiss!” she squeals happily, bringing her hands together.

Instantly you choke and your face turns bright red. From the corner of your eye, you see Ed having the same reaction. Never in your life have you moved so quickly to get away from another person as you scramble off of Ed in that moment.

Once the two of you are at a safe distance, your eyes meet, and then suddenly you both burst out laughing.

**...**

“Before I earned my State Alchemist certification,” Tucker tells you and the boys in that same monotonous voice he always uses, “our life was terrible. We were so poor in those days. My wife couldn’t stand living that kind of life. So she left us.” Suddenly, you are keenly aware of Nina in the corner, petting Alexander’s fur. Tucker sighs. “I can't afford to fail this assessment. I don’t want to go back to those days again—I don’t even think I could.”

“Don’t worry Daddy,” Nina promises. “It’s okay! If those people _do_ tell you no, me and Alexander will growl at them until they say _yes!_ ”

You and Al chuckle slightly. “You tell ‘em, Nina,” the boy encourages.

“Hey Nina,” Tucker says suddenly. “I’ve got an idea. Do you want to play with Daddy tomorrow?”

Nina turns to her father, her eyes sparkling. “Really?” When he nods, the girl throws herself at him joyfully, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Alexander!” she cheers. “Daddy says he’s going to play with us tomorrow!”

**...**

The next day, it’s dark and cloudy when you ring the Tuckers’ doorbell. There is no answer, so you pull on the door. It’s unlocked.

“Hello Mister Tucker!” Al calls. “Thanks for having us again today!”

No response.

You walk along the strangely silent halls. “Mister Tucker?” you call, an odd feeling growing in your stomach. “Nina? Hey, Nina, where are you?” Growing desperate, you shout out, “Alexander! Alexander, come!”

Still nothing.

Finally, much to your reluctance and growing sense of unease, Al pulls open the door to Tucker’s lab. The lights are off inside, and the only light is that spilled in from the open door. Said light reveals Tucker kneeling on the floor, looking at something in front of him. “Mister Tucker!” Ed says. “There you are. So you _are_ home.”

Tucker turns his head around, his glasses gleaming, reflecting the light. “Yes,” he says in an unreadable tone that sends goose bumps rising over your whole body. “I did it, kids,” he says with a mad grin. “I finally did it.” You shoulder the door open wider to see what he’s talking about. As it turns out, the “it” he’s referring to is a chimera sitting on the floor beside him. “A chimera that understands human speech.”

The creature has a white body, and long, stringy black hair that hangs over its face and back. Its eyes are large, white pools, edged in black like eyeliner.

Your stomach churns furiously, and you find yourself clenching your jaw—a sure sign that you’re going to throw up. As Ed and Al approach the man, you edge backward, away from this room that makes you feel so wrong inside.

Tucker leans down to the chimera, who looks up at him. “Listen to me,” he tells it. “That person over there, that’s Edward.”

_‘That person,’_ the chimera repeats, its voice sounding garbled, like two people talking at once. _‘Ed-ward.’_ Its voice sends ice down your spine. The hair stands up on your arms and the back of your neck.

“Yes, that’s very good!” Tucker praises, stroking the creature’s head.

“That’s amazing,” Ed gasps. “It can actually talk!” He drops to his knees beside the creature, and Tucker stands up.

“Now I don’t have to worry about my state certification!” Tucker says gleefully.

_‘That person...Ed-ward,’_ the creature says again, tilting its head so it could look at the boy, who watches the chimera in amazement. _‘That person...Ed-ward.’_

“M-mister Tucker,” you stammer, backing further out the door. “I—um, do y-you know where Nina is? I t-think that I, uh, should go see how she’s doing. So, um...yeah...”

_‘That person...Ed-ward.’_ The chimera’s face changes. ‘ _Big brother Ed...’_

Your and Ed’s face twist at the same time, and you can't help but gag as the realization hits you. You gaze more closely at the creature and know that you’re right. Your eyes are wide like saucers, and your stomach spasms.

“Mister Tucker,” Ed whispers. “When did you first get your state certification?”

“Let’s see...it was two years ago.”

“And when did your wife leave you?”

“...That was two years ago, too.”

“And where the fuck are Nina and Alexander?!” you scream from the doorway, fighting against your roiling stomach.

Tucker’s face twists into a sneer. “Damn brats, figuring it out so quickly!”

You lunge at Tucker, grabbing him by the collar and flinging him to the floor. “Of course we figured it out!” you snarl. “Did you really fucking think we wouldn’t?! You did it again!! Two years ago, it was your _wife_! This time you used your fucking _daughter_ and her _dog_ to transmute a talking chimera!!!” Tucker tries to rise to his feet, so you gift him with a sharp kick to the ribs. Over the pounding of your heart in your ears, you think you hear a crack. “You can only do so much with animals, after all,” you growl as he collapses back to the floor with a wheeze. “It’s much easier when you start with a human, _isn't that right?!?!_ ”

“I don’t see what your so upset about,” Tucker moans, holding his ribs. “This is how we progress. Human experimentation is a necessary step! I would think a _scientist_ would understand—!”

“ _Shut the fuck up!_ ” you scream. This time, your foot connects with his face. When you pull your boot away, his nose is crooked and blood is gushing out. “Did you really fucking think you would get away with this? That _I_ would _let_ you get away with this?! Messing around with somebody’s _life_ like that?! She was your _daughter!!_ Your own flesh and fucking _blood!_ ”

“Messing with someone’s life you say?!” Tucker shouts back, wiping his bleeding nose with the back of his hand. He laughs madly. “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?! Look at your face! Your arm! Look at Ed! His brother! Those things are all the result of _messing around_ with somebody’s _life!_ ”

You’re aware of the tears streaming down your cheek—yes, your singular cheek, because you can't cry without an eye, now can you? “ _Fuck you!_ ” you scream. Your foot hits his face again. More blood comes spilling out. The skin on your thighs is itching madly, the buzzing sting clouding your head even further.

Tucker laughs madly, loudly, hysterically. His broken glasses are somewhere on the floor. “We are the same!” he roars. “We're the same! You’re just like me!”

“No!”

“Oh, but yes we are! The opportunity was right in front of us! And we took it! We had to even though we knew it was against the rules!!”

Your skin is screaming, and then you lose it. What memories you have of the next few moments are hazy. You remember throwing your head back and screaming, screaming at the top of your lungs, a howl of rage and pain. You remember clapping your hands together and slamming them onto Tucker’s body. You remember black, crackling alchemy, you remember blood. Lots and lots of blood, coating your hands, soaking your knees.

You remember sobbing, and Ed with his arms wrapped tightly around you, pinning your arms to your chest. You remember him lifting you up, carrying you away. You remember flailing, fighting him, screaming, begging, crying.

And you remember blood.

“Echo!” Ed is yelling in your ear, but you almost can't hear him at all. “Echo! Echo, _stop it!_ You’re going to kill him!”

“ _Good!_ ” you scream. “Let me go! Let go! Let me kill him! He deserves to die! He needs to pay for what he did!”

Something soft and wet touches your bare flesh arm, and suddenly you freeze, everything becoming clear again. Your vision focuses and you look to the side to see the chimera—to see _Nina_ —pressing her muzzle against your arm. ‘ _Ek-o, no,’_ she rasps. _‘Big sis, stop it.’_

You go limp in Ed’s arms, and he almost falls over at your sudden dead weight. You start to shake uncontrollably, and suddenly Ed is your lifeline, the only thing connecting you to your sanity. You cling to him, clutching his shirt tightly in both fists, shaking silently with tears streaming down one side of your face as his arms around you squeeze you tight.

You watch Nina pad over to—oh god, that thing on the floor is...Tucker?

It is a bloody, mangled heap. In some places, it is missing skin, and red, stringy muscle and white bone are revealed. _‘Da-ddy? Do you...hurt? Daddy?’_

“I killed him,” you breathe. You start to shake harder. “Oh god. I killed him. I killed him. I...I...oh god!” You try to fight your way out of Ed’s arms, to escape, so you can run away from what you’ve done, but he won't let you go.

“No,” he whispers back, his face pressed against the top of your head. “No. He’s still alive. You hear me, Echo? He’s still alive. I swear. It looks worse than it actually is. He’s alive.”

And then Tucker sits up, wiping some of the blood from his face. _‘Can we play now? Daddy? Can we play now?’_

And then all you can do is press your face into Ed’s chest and scream.

**...**

“If ever there was an example of the Devil’s work in this world,” Riza says coolly, “this case would definitely be it.”

“The Devil, huh?” Roy replies doubtfully. “A State Alchemist must be willing to act. Able to take another’s life without questioning it. In some ways, Mr. Tucker’s actions and our own may not be that different when it comes to interfering with other people’s lives. We choose our own path, knowing full well what we’re doing. That’s the way it is.”

He stops beside where you, Ed, and Al are all sitting, out on the stairs in the rain. You have your knees pulled into your chest and your forehead resting on them. Tears are still streaming down your face, but they’re impossible to tell apart from the rain.

You know Mustang knows what you did. You don’t doubt that he’s either disgusted with you...or proud.

And you’re not sure which is worse.

“We’ll most likely come across cases like this again in the future,” Mustang continues. “And you may end up having to get your own hands dirty as well. Are you gonna shut down like this every time?”

“We may be called dogs of the military,” Ed murmurs, wrapping his arms tighter around himself. “We may even be cursed as devils. But it doesn’t matter. The three of us, we’re still gonna get our bodies back. We know the truth!” he whispers. “We know we’re not devils. We know we’re not gods!” Ed rises to his feet, head still bowed. “We’re human,” he whimpers. He throws his head back and lets the rain pelt his face. “We're only human!” he screams.

“And some fucking humans we are, too,” you growl bitterly, curling in on yourself further. “We can't even save one innocent little girl!” You shake your head and look up from your knees, tipping your face back and up to the sky, letting the rain droplets caress your face. “What good are we?” you whisper, fingers raking fiercely against your thigh.

There is still blood on your hands.

“ _...you may end up having to get your own hands dirty as well. Are you gonna shut down like this every time...?_ ”

Your hands are _already_ dirty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whatever could be up with Echo's legs...?


	6. The World is Shaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst! ^⌣^

_“I still have too long a life ahead to get rid of these feelings, right? I want to try doing over the things I’ve left undone. I thought I was running after something carried over from my dreams, yet I’m stumbling into people on this narrow, winding road. It’s not like I want to go back to the way things were back then; I’m just searching for the sky I’ve been losing. Here’s hoping you’ll understand. Stop making that sad face as though you were a victim. Sins don’t end in tears; you have to carry the pain forever. Who am I waiting for in this maze of emotions with no way out in sight? I want to purge myself more simply, as if writing in a blank notebook. What is it I want to escape from? ...Is it reality? It makes me want to scream that we’re alive for things to come true. Can you hear me? I can’t put up with playing it safe. ...I’ve got nowhere to go home to! I’m always grateful for kindness; that’s why I want to grow stronger (I’m on the way). I even welcome this pain for the things I miss.”  
—Yui, Again_

**...**

Ed writhes on the bed, becoming tangled in his sheets. He thrashes, whimpering, mumbling nonsense in his sleep. Suddenly, he flinches so violently, he nearly falls off the bed.

With a loud gasp, he sits bolt upright. His hair is hanging loose around his shoulders, and in that instant, he looks so open, looks so... _vulnerable_ , that you almost want to cry.

Panting, he ducks his head wearily, allowing his golden locks to hide his face. He brings his automail knee in, up to his face, curling in on himself.

You sit softly on the edge of his bed, pausing for a moment to see how he’ll react. When he doesn’t shove you back or try to run away, you slide next to him slowly, carefully placing on arm over his shoulders. He leans into you immediately, burying his face in the space where your shoulder meets your neck.

You can feel his shuddering breaths, and you trail your fingers through his hair.

_You’re okay._

_I promise._

**...**

Ed lifts his hand to rap on the wooden door, but then stops suddenly, leaving his hand hovering awkwardly in the air near it. You shoot a glance at him, but before you can say anything, Riza pulls open the door.

“What’s the matter, you three?” she asks, furrowing her brows slightly. “You’re up awfully early.”

“We...” Ed murmurs, pausing as he seems to collapse in on himself. “We need to know...what’s going to happen to Tucker and Nina.”

Hawkeye flinches at the mention of their names, and you are suddenly sure that something terrible has happened. Tears pool in the corner of your eye as Riza carefully composes herself. “Mister Tucker was scheduled to be stripped of his certification and to stand trial for what he did to Nina,” she says tonelessly. “But...they’re both dead.”

Your heart nearly stops. “ _Dead?_ ”

Riza clenches her jaw briefly. “You’ll find out anyway,” she reasons, “so I might as well tell you. They’ve been murdered.”

Hawkeye starts walking away, fixing her collar as she speaks. “ _What?_ ” Ed chokes out. “ _When?_ By _who?_ ”

Any other time you’d correct him. 'By _whom',_ you’d correct with a dry grin.

But not now.

“I don’t know,” Riza says. “I’m on my way over to inspect the scene now.”

“We’re coming with you,” Al states, marching after her immediately.

“No.”

Her answer is firm—one that leaves no room for question.

“And why the hell not?” you growl.

Riza stops walking. She doesn't turn around. “Because you don’t need to see this.”

**...**

It’s still raining, as if the world is crying for Nina. You, Ed, and Al are all sitting on a set of cold, wet stone stairs. Your clothes are heavy and cling to your body, dragging you down like a lead weight. You pick at the jean-clad skin of your thighs, your long hair sticking to your face, shoulders, and arms. A few strands catch on a screw from your shoulder, and they are yanked from your head when you shift.

The drops pelt you mercilessly as you tip your head up, letting them run down your face. Maybe they can wipe you clean. Make you new again.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a long time,” Ed mutters. “We put all our trust in alchemy, but in the end...what is it?” He sighs. “Alchemy is the science of understanding the flow of matter and its laws,” he whispers. “The process of comprehension, deconstruction, and reconstruction. The world flows too; it must also follow laws. Everything circulates.” Rain drips down his scraggly bangs which hide his eyes. “Even death is a part of that circulation. It must accept the flow.”

He chuckles unhappily. “Teacher sure drilled that into our heads, didn’t she?” he remarks blandly. “I thought I understood it,” he says. His next words are a whisper, almost inaudible. “I didn’t understand anything. Mom proves that. And now here I am again, trying desperately to figure out a way to do the impossible.”

You remember Nina laughing giddily as Alexander licked her cheek. You remember her throwing her arms around the friendly beast and burrowing her face into his fur.

You shudder.

“I’m such a hopeless idiot,” Ed hisses, clenching his fists where they rest on his legs. “All this time, and I haven't grown one bit. I thought maybe the rain would wash away some of this gloom that’s been following me. But every drop that hits my face is even more depressing.”

Any other time, you would do something then. You would wrap your arms around him, keeping him safe in your embrace. You would give some sort of counter argument that proved he was wrong. Or you would hit him upside the head and tell him to quit moping like a loser.

But not now. Oh, definitely not now. No, because now, you’re trying to find a reason not to hate yourself—and coming up empty.

You scratch harder.

Al tips his armored face up to the sky. Raindrops bead on the metal surface, growing and swelling until they get too heavy to stay where they are, running down the helmet and meeting up with others. They merge together, becoming one big droplet, until they reach the base of the helmet and come falling, plunging down, and shatter hopelessly against the ground.

Al’s voice echoes inside the cold, hollow suit he’s been trapped in. “I don’t even get that much,” he whispers. His voice is steady, if quiet, but you know if they could, tears would be streaming down his face with the rain. “Without a body,” he continues, “I can't feel the rain hitting my face. That’s something I miss. All the time, wanting my body back...I want to get my body back soon, guys. I just want to be human again,” he begs. “...But if it means going against the flow and trying to do the impossible...”

You bow your head deeply, spine curving, as if you’re trying to disappear into yourself. What loose hair you have that’s not clinging to your patchwork body falls forward, encasing your face in a closed curtain. When you finally speak, your voice is raw. “I...” you rasp. “...I enjoyed it.” You don’t see it through your hair—nor would you have looked even if _could_ see it—but the clinking of Al’s armor and the sound of a light breath from Ed tell you that both have turned to face you. You wrap your arms around yourself tightly, your automail fingers digging into your flesh arm painfully. _Good_ , you think bitterly.

“I enjoyed it,” you repeat, unsure about how much of the self-hatred you feel escapes into your tone. “When I was...when I fought with Tucker...when I saw him bleeding, saw his blood on the floor...” You pause to take a shaky breath. “It made me feel _good_. It was...it was actually _fun_ to hit him. I _liked_ hitting him. And then, when...after you pulled me away from him, and I saw him just laying there, just laying on the floor, and I thought...I thought he dead, thought I had killed him, and...and...” You swallow hard, rain dripping from your lips, shaking as you recall the pleasure you had felt. “...I was _happy_. I was happy he was dead—that _I_ had _killed_ him.” You shake your head desperately, clawing at the skin of your leg until you feel blood on your fingers, seeping out through your ~~(fortunately black)~~ jeans. “God, I was so _fucking_ happy...!” you trail off.

There is a few tense moments of silence, and then a man’s low voice breaks in. “You two,” it barks. “You two are the Smokebomb and Fullmetal Alchemists, Echo and Edward, correct?”

Still trembling, you lift a hand to part your curtain of hair. You raise your one good eye up bleakly to see a dark-skinned man with white hair and sunglasses, a large X-shaped scar over his eyes and forehead. He draws back a hand before lunging to where you sit. You hear Ed and Al shouting your name.

You don’t move.

Something hard connects with you, sending you crashing to the side just as the man’s hand hits the spot you were sitting in. Lying flat on your back, you look up in surprise to see Ed hovering over you. Blinking, you snap back into reality. Looking over Ed’s shoulder, you see the man lunge again. You grab Ed’s arms out from under him, causing him to collapse against you, and then you wrap your arms around him and roll over before leaping to your feet. The man strikes the ground with enough force to crack the concrete. You clap your hands together and then slam them against the ground. With a black crackle, a cloud of thick black dust surrounds the man, impeding his vision. To keep him occupied, you formulate three figures to run through the mist, roughly the size and shape of each of you.

“What the hell is going on here?” Ed cries.

There is a faint crackle and then a stone pillar shoots out in front of you, hitting you solidly in the gut. Wheezing, you stumble back, concentration shattered. Your misty illusion falls harmlessly to the ground and, as the man steps forward with a glare, you struggle to breathe.

The man flexes his hand and paces towards you. _This is bad_ , you think to yourself. _Oooooh no. This is really bad._

 _Then move, you dummy!_ another voice yells at you, still in your head. _Move now!_

The voice sounds strangely like Ed.

So, still gasping for air, you manage to push yourself to your feet and take off running. Ed and Al are at your side in an instant. You dash down a long set of stairs, taking them two or three at a time.

From above, there is a loud _crash_. In a cloud of dust and rubble, the scarred man jumps down, landing on his feet at the bottom of the flight you’re on.

“Oh no you don’t,” he growls, flexing his hand again. Blue, crackling alchemy dancing around the appendage, and then the entire set of stairs collapses below you.

With a shout, you start to fall, scrabbling for a handhold. Finding nothing, you squeeze your eye shut tightly, only to be jerked painfully to a stop. Breathing hard, you look up to see Al clinging to a ledge with one hand. The other hand has Ed by one ankle, and he’s holding you up by your wrists. It’s like one of those games where you have the little monkeys in a barrel, and you have to string them together. Only way more high-stakes.

Hanging precariously, you see the man calmly put one blue-sparkling hand on the wall, and then the small ledge that Al has a grip on gives out in a blast of dusty rubble.

Shrieking, you drop again, landing painfully on the stairs below before slipping and smashing the back of your head against the ground. Blinking woozily, you sit up. You hear Ed shout something at the man, and he claps his hands and hits them against the ground. Then the three of you are on a pillar and are shooting through the air. Then, somehow, the base of the pillar must have been shattered, because then you’re falling again.

When you connect with the ground, all you want to do is lie down and take a nap, or maybe throw up. Maybe both. Everything’s kinda blurry, and you can feel a warm wetness running down the back of your head. When you bring your fingers away from the spot, they’re red and shiny.

_Is that blood?_

Ed tugs on your hand, and he’s shouting, pulling you along, so you go with him, half-running half-stumbling down a downhill street.

“Damn it!” Ed roars, pumping his arms in an attempt to move faster. “What the hell is this guy’s problem?! Making enemies isn't something that we—!” He stops himself. “Well...we never really avoided it...” You glance over your shoulder—the man is still following. “...But there’s no reason someone should be trying to _kill_ us!”

You take a sudden sharp turn down an alleyway, and you slam into the wall on your way in. Alchemy runs along the wall, and then there is an explosion of dust and rubble as the walls give out, blocking the exit. You drop to your knees and shield your head with your arms. When the dust fades, you glance up, only to see the man standing at the mouth of the alley.

“Who are you, anyway?!” Ed shouts. “Why are you after us?!”

The man’s voice is a low rumble. “As long as there are creators like you in the world,” he intones, “there must also be destroyers.”

Blinking blearily, you manage to mumble something about being overly-religious. You glance around confused. _How...how did I get here?_ you wonder. _And what...was I doing?_

“It looks like we’re going to have to fight,” Ed growls, clapping his hands together and transmuting himself a small sword. He rises to his feet, brandishing it menacingly. Al takes a defensive stance. You drag yourself to your feet, trying to ignore the way the ground is spinning beneath you, and raise your fists. You blink a few times, trying to clear your double vision.

Immediately, you see the man’s eyes hone in on you, and you curse yourself in your head. _A chain is only as strong as its weakest link_ , you remind yourself bitterly. _And that’s you_.

The man grins. “Gutsy one, aren’t you?” he says to Ed. “But your girlfriend over there seems a little... _confused_. Hit your head there, Girly?”

“Don’t call me that,” you growl, making a conscious effort not to slur. Despite the situation, despite your dizziness and nausea and throbbing skull, you still manage to blush. “And I’m not his girlfriend!”

Ed and Al dash forward, and you follow, hanging back slightly. They both lash out at the same time, but the man somehow manages to side-step between them.

“Too slow,” he murmurs before he flexes his hand and presses it against Al’s armor. Over half of the metal torso explodes instantly, along with some of the arm.

“ _Al!_ ”

The broken armor suit lies face-down on the concrete, and your heart nearly stops. You pray to a god that you’re not even sure if you believe in. _Oh, please, no,_ you beg. _Please, please, please! I’m sorry I haven't believed in you before, I’m so sorry! Please let his blood seal be intact! Please let him still be here! Please! Just_ please _, let him be okay!_

“You _bastard!_ ” Ed screams, dashing over to the man with his sword clenched hard in both hands. He strikes out at the man, who grabs his arm and holds him by it, away from his body.

“You’re too slow!” the man taunts, before letting out another blast of his obviously destructive alchemy. Your heart stops again for a moment before all that happens is Ed being sent flying back so hard, he tumbles clean out of the alley.

  _It was his right arm_ , you tell yourself, trying to calm your erratic heartbeat. _He’s okay_.

 The man looks confused and surprised at how the arm didn’t explode, but he quickly turns and dashes over to you. He flexes his hand and reaches for your face, but you block with your forearm. You’re so focused on keeping the limb in place while also remaining standing as the ground bucks and heaves beneath you, that you don’t notice the next attack until it comes. His knee rises up, catching you hard in the side. Wheezing, you have no choice but to double over. He hooks his leg under the back of your knees and your legs give out, sending you crashing onto the pavement.

He leans over, his hand reaching for you, crackling. You manage to bring both your legs up and put your feet on the man’s chest, kicking him away. Yet as you attempt to rise to your feet again, you’re dragged roughly upright by your hair. The man’s other hand looms toward you again, reaching for your face, and your heart pounds, terror coursing through you. _Is this it?_ you wonder. _Is this the end?_

And then, suddenly Ed is there. He roars and rips the hand away from you. He’s not wearing his jacket, and, like you, his metal arm gleams in the dim alley lights.

“An automail arm,” the man says thoughtfully. “That explains why my attacks didn’t do the damage I was expecting.” He watches as Ed claps his hands together. “...Most unusual,” he remarks.

Ed sharpens a blade onto his automail. A vague sort of plan begins to form in your hazy mind. More of an half-formed idea than a plan, really. You sit on the ground and struggle to unlace your boots with clumsy fingers.

Al attempts to army-crawl over to Ed. “Brother!” he yells. “Don’t! Just run away!”

You get one of your boots off, and fumble with the ties on the other.

“You idiot!” Ed responds. The man, oddly enough, holds off on his attack to let the boys converse. “I’m not gonna leave you behind, Al!”

“You press your hands together to make a ring and then perform transmutation,” the man mutters. “I see.”

You get your other boot off and rise slowly, your bare feet against the cold, smooth stone of the alley.

Ed lunges at the man with a roar. He strikes out at his face, but the man grabs Ed’s arm, holding it immobile. “Then I’ll have to start by destroying this abhorred right arm of yours!” he growls.

There is a blue flash and then an explosion of nuts, bolts, and metal shards. Ed goes flying backward.

As Al screams for his brother, you catch your bottom lip between your teeth, biting down hard to stop yourself from crying out for him. You feel blood trickle down your chin.

 _Not yet,_ you tell yourself, bare feet itching to run. _Wait for the right moment._

Ed stares forward in shock, at the shrapnel from his arm, and then falls hard against the pavement. He holds himself upright with one arm. “Now you won't be able to use your heretics alchemy,” the man growls, stepping toward Ed.

You creep forward a little, lurking in the deep shadows at the mouth of the alley. _Not yet_.

Ed jerks in fear and attempts to scramble back, away from the man. When he goes to shift his weight to the other arm, he finds it not there, falling into a puddle on the concrete. Your heart aches.

“I will give you a moment to pray to God,” the man growls, walking toward Ed.

The man stops when he reaches the one-armed boy crumpled at his feet. “Unfortunately,” Ed says, “there’s not any ‘God’ I’d like to pray to.” He presses his forehead against the cold stone ground and looks into the alley where you and Al are. He locks eyes with you. Frantically, you point to yourself and shake your head vigorously before putting one finger over your lips in a _shush_ gesture. “Am I the only one you tried to kill today?” Ed asks bitterly. “Or are you going to go after some other innocent people, too?”

The man stands over Ed coldly. “If anyone tries to interfere, I will eliminate them,” he states.

“Then I want your word!” Ed says, with an odd, intense stare. “Promise me you won't hurt my brother!”

There is a very short pause. “I will keep that promise.”

Ed lets out a small nod and turns his face to the ground. “No, Brother! What are you trying to do?!” Al shouts. “What are you thinking? Run! Get up and _run!_ ”

But Ed does not run. No, that loyal bastard stays just lying there, willing to accept death if it will save his brother. The man’s hand stretches out toward Ed.

_Now!_

You sprint out from the shadows, careful to remain directly behind the man. A wave of particular dizziness crashes over you, and you nearly fall over, but force yourself to remain upright. Your bare feet are utterly silent against the ground.

Just as the man’s hand is an inch from Ed’s head, you throw yourself against him with everything you have. He lets out a grunt and goes sailing to the pavement a few feet away.

You drag Ed upright and sling his arm over your shoulders, staggering away as fast as you can. “Need a hand?” you rasp, dragging him after you.

He’s shaking.

The sound of a gunshot pierces the air. An angry, familiar voice rings out. “That’s enough!” You and Ed gasp at the same, turning to look over your shoulders. There is Roy, Riza, and Havoc, along with the rest of Roy’s team. “You won't be killing anybody else today, Scar,” Roy says, still holding his gun in the air. “I’m taking you into custody, where you will answer for the murders of at least ten State Alchemists.”

The man—Scar?—seems utterly unfazed by military lineup before him. “Alchemists alter things from their natural form,” he says, “reverting them to something else. Something grotesque. They profane God, the _true_ creator of all things. As an agent of God, I am here to hand down his judgment. If you interfere, I will eliminate _you_ as well.”

Roy looks unimpressed—almost amused, actually. “Is that so?” he drawls. He hands Riza the gun. “You guys stay out of it,” he orders.

“Colonel Mustang, sir...!” she protests.

“Colonel Mustang,” Scar muses. “So this is the Flame Alchemist.” He flexes his hand and starts to step toward Mustang—and away from you and Ed. It isn't until that moment that you realize just how close he had been to you—less than a foot away. He starts running toward the Colonel. “This is truly an auspicious day!”

Mustang smirks and tugs on his gloves. “So you know who I am, and you still want to challenge me?”

Rain drips off his lips as he speaks, and realization hits you, even through your throbbing, hazy mind. _Rain_...

Riza starts running after the Colonel.

Just as Scar reaches the Colonel, the latter of the two proclaims, “Bad decision.” He snaps his fingers, letting out a tiny poof of dust. He looks confused and then Scar’s arm shoots out toward his head at the same time as the Lieutenant sweeps his legs out from under him. When Mustang is down, she whips out two handguns and starts firing at Scar. The man leaps around, somehow avoiding the sharpshooter’s bullets.

On the ground, Roy lets out an indignant exclamation of, “Hey Hawkeye, what the hell did you do _that_ for?!”

“You know as well as I do that you’re useless on rainy days,” she retorts, glaring at the spot where Scar disappeared behind a wall. “Please stay back!”

“Oh yeah,” Havoc comments. “I forgot. It’s kinda hard to get a spark going when it’s raining, huh?”

“It’s fortunate you can't use your blasphemous flames, State Alchemist,” Scar says, still hiding behind the wall. “For I will destroy all who interfere with my mission, right here and now!”

But then another voice rings out. “I’d like to see you try it!” it shouts.

_Is that...?_

Scar leaps backward, back into the open. “A newcomer.”

“You have to be quick to avoid my fist!” Armstrong boasts. “Not bad. Not bad at all. You said you were going to destroy us all. And in that case, why don’t you start by defeating _me?!_ ”

You are dimly aware of the battle noises coming from behind the wall as hands grab at you and Ed, pulling you back. You lash out at them clumsily, blearily, until you finally realize that it’s just Havoc and Riza. You let them tug you and Ed back toward the rest of the squad, not letting go of your arm around Ed.

“Who—who is he?” Ed murmurs, still trembling. He watches the fight going on in the alley with wide, open eyes.

“That’s the same man who murdered Mister Tucker and his daughter,” Havoc says. Ed gasps and jerks his head to look at him, and you let out a choked exclamation.

“It’s him!” Ed pants.

“Major!” Havoc suddenly hollers. “Watch what you’re doing!! We don’t want to destroy the city, do we?!”

“What do you mean?!” Armstrong shouts back, he strikes a pose, his shirt suddenly missing, revealing his unnaturally bulging, rippling muscles. “Creation and destruction are two sides of the same coin! You must destroy to create—that is the law of the _universe!_ ”

Riza deadpans. “Did he _have_ to strip?”

“Are you surprised?” Havoc replies with the same tone. “He's _clearly_ insane.”

As you approach the others, you hear Roy’s surprised voice. If you could think properly, you’d probably be surprised at just how much the sound of his voice can calm you. “So this killer is an alchemist, too?” he mutters, his low voice smooth as ever.

“That’s it,” Ed mumbles. “The stages of the transmutation process are construction, deconstruction, and reconstruction. This guy must just stop at the deconstruction phase!”

“But if Scar is an alchemist as well,” Havoc says, “doesn’t that mean he's strayed from whatever his ‘ways of God’ are, too?”

“And what would be his motivation for only targeting alchemists with state certification?” Roy wonders.

You watch as Armstrong backs the man against a wall. He goes to throw a punch, and Scar must see an opening, because he lashes out in a counterattack. But suddenly, Armstrong jumps backward, and then Riza is firing at the scarred man with a rifle. He dodges most of the bullets, but she manages to connect with one shot. His tinted glasses go flying off his face, and a bit of blood spatters onto the floor.

“Did you get him?” Roy asks urgently.

“He’s too fast,” Riza growls. “I only managed to graze him with one shot.”

The man glares with bright red eyes, blood welling up at his temple before trickling down the side of his face.

“Red eyes!” Armstrong gasps. “And brown skin! That means—!”

“Ish...valan!” you gasp with a slur, blinking dark spots out of your eyes. Somehow, you’re still standing, despite the roiling ground beneath you. You sway in place, still holding Ed against you, your hands knotted in his shirt with a death grip. He leans on you heavily, clinging to you like a lifeline. He’s taking comfort in your fiercely protective presence, in your sense of comfort and safety. And you take comfort in the fact that this is Ed, that he’s okay—that he’s alive.

As long as he’s in your arms, nothing can hurt him.

Scar’s voice snaps you back into reality. You hadn’t even realized you’d been drifting. “Perhaps there are too many,” he says, appraising the lien of ten-plus soldiers before him.

Roy holds up a hand. “You might as well give up, Scar,” he proclaims. “You’re not getting away.”

But the next series of events happens almost too quickly for your addled brain to process. There is a flash of blue and Scar bends over, then there’s a wave of dust— _that’s my job!_ —and then he’s gone. After a few moments, you realize that he blasted a hole in the ground under his feet.

“Bastard is in the sewers,” Havoc grunts.

“Stay put,” the Colonel orders.

“You don’t have to tell _me_ twice!”

“Sorry Armstrong,” Mustang says. “But thank you for buying us enough time to surround him.”

Armstrong shakes his head. “I was hardly ‘buying time’,” he murmurs. “It was all I could do to keep myself from being killed.”

Maes’ head pops in. “Is it over now?” While he and the Colonel start bickering, you and Ed remember Al at the same time. You (reluctantly) release Ed and he dashes into the alley. You follow close behind, but the ground bucks up under you and fall over, skinning your knees on the rough concrete. You feel gentle hands on your arms, helping you up, and you look over your shoulder to see Riza. She tries to tug you back toward the others—probably wanting to look you over, find out why the world is shaking and your eye isn't working right—but you shake her off and stumble over to Ed and Al, dropping to your stinging knees beside them.

The one-armed boy kneels before his brother. “Al!” he barks. “Al, are you alright? Come on Al, can you hear me?”

Much to everyone’s surprise, the first thing the badly-broken suit of armor does is punch his brother so hard that he goes reeling. “Why didn’t you run away when I told you to?!” Al demands. “What kind of idiot are you?!?!”

“No way!” Ed argues. “I’m not just gonna run away and leave you behind!”

“That’s _exactly_ why you’re an _idiot!_ ” Al screams, punching his brother again.

Ed slumps against the wall, holding his cheek with his hand. “What do you keep punching me like that for? If I'd run away, you could have been _killed_ , you know that?!”

“And maybe I _wouldn’t_ have been!” Al retorts. “Making the decision to die is something only an _idiot_ does!”

“Hey, easy on the idiot stuff! I’m still your older brother, got it?!”

“I’ll say it all I want to!!” He grabs Ed by the shirt front and holds him up to his armored face. “Survival is the _only_ way, Ed! Live on! Learn more about alchemy! You can find a way to get our bodies back and help people like Nina! You _can't_ do that by _dying!_ I _won't_ allow you to abandon the possibility of hope and choose a _meaningless_ death!” Suddenly, the arm that he was holding Ed up by crumbles at the joint, falling to the floor. “Aw, _great!!!_ ” he rages. “And now my arm’s come off because my brother’s a big, fat, _idiot!!!_ ”

Ed hangs his head.

Al suddenly turns on you. “And as for _you!_ ” he roars. You squeak and throw your arms up to block your face, but the sudden motion sends another wave of dizziness through you, sending you falling backwards onto the ground. On your back, you groan, blinking up at rapidly-clearing sky. “ _What_ are you still doing here, worrying about me?!” Al demands. “You hit your head! Go over there and get yourself checked out!” You manage to drag yourself back into an upright position and nod your head, eyes trained on the ground.

You feel something warm wrap around you, and look back to see Hawkeye draping her military jacket over your shoulders. Smiling at her, you shift slightly, resting your forehead against one of the still-solid parts of Al’s armor. You reach out and grab Ed’s remaining flesh hand in your own.

 _We’re a family_ , you think. _A crazy, messed up family, but...it’s still a family. It’s gonna be us against the world, and nothing’s gonna come between that._

**...**

After a while, you’d been diagnosed with a concussion and told to take it easy for a few days.

You stand in Mustang’s office next to Ed, the rest of his team milling around the room. “The Ishvalans were a race of people who lived to the east of us,” the Colonel explains. “They believed that their god Ishvala was the one true creator. Even after they were annexed into the country, there were still conflicts between us and them.

“Then, thirteen years ago, a military officer accidentally shot and killed an Ishvalan child. That led to a full-blown civil war. One uprising lead to another. Before long, the rebellion had spread to the whole eastern sector.

“After seven years of this, an order came down from the military high command: to exterminate Ishval. Many State Alchemists were brought in to act as human weapons. Needless to say, the alchemists produced striking results.”

The Colonel’s dark eyes flicker with what can only be memories, and you can only imagine the horrors he must’ve had to endure.

_...the child’s bloody arm hangs off the stairs. The look of surprise and confusion was still etched on her face as her eyes stared infinitely up at the swirling stars above. Her beloved teddy bear lay, harmless and abandoned, on the ground near her hand, her hand that sent a thin trickle of blood down the long stairs..._

_...the officers behind the wall fire their guns, the loud, crackling POP nearly deafening. The shots come, one after another after another. Blood spreads on the ground, pooling in the cracks between the stones, as man after woman after child falls..._

_...the flames roar, eating through the wooden homes like hungry dogs. From inside, screams can still be heard as the people within are unable to escape. A horrible, acrid stench wafts through the air: the smell of burning flesh. Cold and unfeeling, the soldiers march through the streets in perfect lines and rows. Their guns are slung over their shoulders, their boots are shiny, and their uniforms are straight and unwrinkled. And they must hate the red eyes of the Ishvalans. Every time they see those eyes turned to them, filled with fear or rage or pleading or tears, be them upon the face of a man, a woman, or a child, they make sure the light within those eyes goes out..._

_...there are chains that spread, killing, choking, as people screamed in terror, crying, trying to run. People are trampled in the mad dash to escape, to be free, to live. All around, people scoop up children that have been left behind, running with them, trying to save them if nothing else. There is the terrible explosions that reduce grand stone buildings to nothing but rubble, and people to memories. There is the great bursts of flame that ravage everything they touch, burning buildings, plants, people, even, it seems, the very sky itself..._

_...broken, bloody bodies litter streets and alleys. They lay crumpled on the pavement, in various states of decay. They fill the air with the rotting scent of death, of fear, of hopelessness. Rats and flies grow fat and plentiful off the abundance of food left for them. Diseases spread, claiming more lives, producing more bodies to lie on the cold, bloody, rotting stone floors..._

You jerk out of your trance, breathing hard. A cold sweat gathers on your forehead, and you wipe it away hastily with a shaking hand. _What...what_ was _that?_ you wonder.

You jump again as Ed bumps his shoulder against yours, drawing your attention. He’s looking at you with brows furrowed, mildly concerned. Mustang stares at you with one eyebrow raised. Riza watches you with somewhat narrowed eyes, as if examining you. And everyone else in the room just stares.

You sweat-drop and laugh shakily. “Sorry,” you apologize, forcing a smile. You rap your knuckles on your head. “Head injury, that’s all. Don’t worry about it.”

Mustang eyes you for a moment more before continuing. “That man is an Ishvalan survivor,” he says. “In a sense, his revenge is justified.”

“No way!” Ed growls, gritting his teeth. “There’s no justification for taking revenge on people who had nothing to do with it! He’s just dressing his ugly lust for vengeance in the mantle of his ‘God’ and calling himself an agent of justice.”

“Still,” Mustang says. “The fact is, he’s coming at us with full force. We can't let ourselves be killed for his cause.” A dent forms between his brows. “Next time,” he warns, “there will be no more talk. Got it?”

His team all nods. “Yes, sir,” they say in perfect synchronization.

You and the boys remain silent.

Maes turns to the three of you. “Well Echo, Ed, Alphonse,” he says. “What’re you three gonna do now? What’s the plan?”

Ed points an intense look at the ground. “We’re going to keep moving,” he says. “We can't just sit around—not as long as we’re still alive.”

“...Brother...”

Ed’s face softens and he puts his hand on Al’s busted shoulder. “Before we can make any headway on getting your body back, we have to get my arm back to normal. After all, Echo and I are the only ones who know how to bond your soul to the armor, and _she_ might be loopy _forever_ , so...”

“Hey!”

He ignores you. “We’ve got no choice!” He tosses his head. “It’s been a long time!” You sweat-drop. “We need to pay a visit to our mechanic!”


	7. Far Too Close to Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be my favorite chapter that I've written so far

_“I still have too long a life ahead to get rid of these feelings, right? I want to try doing over the things I’ve left undone. I thought I was running after something carried over from my dreams, yet I’m stumbling into people on this narrow, winding road. It’s not like I want to go back to the way things were back then; I’m just searching for the sky I’ve been losing. Here’s hoping you’ll understand. Stop making that sad face as though you were a victim. Sins don’t end in tears; you have to carry the pain forever. Who am I waiting for in this maze of emotions with no way out in sight? I want to purge myself more simply, as if writing in a blank notebook. What is it I want to escape from? ...Is it reality? It makes me want to scream that we’re alive for things to come true. Can you hear me? I can’t put up with playing it safe. ...I’ve got nowhere to go home to! I’m always grateful for kindness; that’s why I want to grow stronger (I’m on the way). I even welcome this pain for the things I miss.”  
—Yui, Again_

**...**

You’re sitting on the train, having just boarded a few minutes ago. The air smells unpleasantly of feet, and you’re not excited for the long ride. You are sitting next to Ed, and had conceded to let him have the window seat. You plan on sleeping for as long as possible anyway, so there’s no point in blocking the poor boy’s view.

You shift, folding your long legs beneath yourself in an attempt to get comfortable. You stretch your arms over your head, enjoying the pull in your back and shoulder. You crack your knuckles loudly.

A sharp rapping sound catches your attention. You turn to see Maes at the window. “ _Hey_ ,” he says, sounding muffled by the thick pane glass separating him from the rest of you.

Ed manages to get the window to open. He pokes his face out of the space in the top. Meanwhile, while he’s distracted, you press your face into the glass at the bottom, proceeding to make an endless number of funny faces at Hughes.

“Lieutenant Colonel?” Ed says, clueless of your hijinks.

“The folks at the Eastern Command Center were a little too busy to make it down here today,” Maes answers, cutting his eyes sideways to glance at you for a moment before returning his attention to Ed. A small, repressed smile forms on his face. “So I came to see you off instead.”

“Great,” Ed replies, not sounding exceptionally happy. “But would you mind telling us what the Major is doing here?”

He turns to look at Mister Armstrong over his shoulder, and you hurriedly pull your face away from the glass before he can see you. You both glance at the massive man on the seat across from you, sparkling as he takes up nearly the whole bench.

Oh yeah, whoops. Did you forget to mention that Armstrong is here, too?

Well...Armstrong is here, too.

“He’s for protection,” Maes says. “What would happen if Scar came after you again?” Ed grips his right, armless shoulder tightly. “You’re in no shape for a fight now, Ed.” Maes leans casually on the side of the train. “The Major’s here to help,” he continues. “Just try to grin and bear it.”

“Children can be so stubborn,” Armstrong mutters.

You and Ed whirl on him simultaneously, anime-veins pulsing and fists waving angrily.

“Hey, shut up!”

“Watch it old man!”

“I’m not a child!”

“Don’t call me a child!”

Ed cools off first. “Anyway, are you sure Al made it on board?” he asks the Major.

“Of course,” Armstrong answers, his voice a low rumble. “I put him in with the sheep. I thought he might get lonely otherwise...”

You and Ed have very different reactions (as usual). You burst out laughing, just picturing Al in his wooden crate, surrounded by sheep after sheep after sheep, baaing at him. On the other hand, Ed starts fuming again. “ _My brother is not some kind of farm animal!_ ” he roars at the Major.

Suddenly, a bell starts ringing loudly, and the train whistle blows. Maes steps back and offers you guys a salute. “Okay,” he grins. “You guys have a safe trip! Stop in and give me a shout the next time you make it to Central!”

You, Ed, and Armstrong salute him back, the latter two both with serious, grim expressions, and you with a close-eyed, toothy smile.

And then the train begins chugging off, carrying you, Ed, and the Major out of sight.

**...**

The train makes a stop in a small country town. You had fallen asleep with your head in Ed’s lap, legs bent over the edge of the bench and into the aisle.

You grumble at having been awoken, shutting your eye again and nuzzling your face back into the boy’s legs.

Then, suddenly Armstrong is on his feet, leaning his face out the window, nearly crushing you and Ed. “Doctor Marcoh!” he shouts to a man walking by. “Doctor Marcoh, that is you, isn't it?” The man turns. “It’s me, Alex Louis Armstrong, from Central!” the Major bellows.

Marcoh’s face twists in horror, and he takes off running—away from the train.

After a beat of silence, you break the ice. “I don’t think he was very happy to see you,” you say dryly. “I’m guessing you know him?”

“He’s from Central,” Armstrong replies. “A talented State Alchemist. He was researching possible medical applications of alchemy. But after the Ishvalan Civil War, he went missing; just disappeared.”

Ed squeezes his way out from under the Major, and takes off running. His empty sleeve flaps behind him. “Let’s go,” he urges. “A guy like this doctor might know a few useful things about bio-alchemy,” Ed explains.

**...**

“Excuse me, but would you happen to know who this person is, by any chance?” Armstrong shows the man in question the picture he’d drawn of Mister Marcoh—a picture that looks _exactly_ like runaway doctor.

“Wow, Armstrong, that’s _really_ good!” you murmur.

The Major lifts his chin, sparkling slightly. “The art of portraiture has been passed down through the Armstrong family for generations!” he declares proudly, and you can't help but to crack a grin.

“Wait a minute,” the man says, looking at the picture carefully. “That looks like Doctor Mauro to me.”

“Mauro?”

“All of our town’s doctors were drafted to help on the battle field during the Civil War,” the man explains. “Then Doctor Mauro came here! He’s really been a lifesaver.”

“He’ll see any patient,” another man chimes in, “and he never gives up on anybody. We’re really lucky to have him here.”

“You see this bright flash of light,” a young blonde woman says, “and then you’re cured! Just like that!”

The three of you exchange a meaningful glance.

**...**

“This is it,” you say, lifting your flesh hand to knock on the green door. Ed’s at your side, and Armstrong is climbing the stairs slowly, with Al’s broken armor in a large crate on his shoulder.

After a moment, when nobody answers, you growl and pull the door open yourself. “Hello, Mister Marcoh? We— _agh!_ ”

The last bit is because you’re greeted by a revolver pointed at your face. You manage to drop to the ground just before he pulls the trigger, dodging the bullet.

“Alright, tell me what you three are doing here!” Marcoh demands, still holding up the gun. “Have you come to take me back?!”

The Major holds up his free hand, palm out. “Please, Doctor,” he says evenly. “Calm down.”

Marcoh ignores him. “I don’t ever want to go back!” The gun in his hands trembles as he begins to shiver. “Anything but that!”

“That’s not it,” Armstrong assures. “Please, listen.”

“So! You’re here to silence me, then!”

“No! Nothing like that!”

“I won't be tricked by you!”

The Major lets out something between a sigh and a growl, and suddenly flings Al’s crate at the man. “ **I'll ask you one more time, please calm down!!!** ” he roars.

“Alphonse!”

**...**

The five of you sit around the wooden table inside the Doctor’s house. Well, if you call what Al does, still in his crate, “sitting”.

“So,” Armstrong repeats, clarifying. “You changed your name; decided to live in hiding, way out here in the countryside.” You let out a small, soft hum. “If the rumors I’ve heard are to be believed, when you disappeared, you took top-secret materials with you.”

Marcoh stares down at his clasped hands. “I couldn’t handle it anymore,” he croaks. “Order or no order, to have to dirty my hands researching that _thing_ was...too much.”

“What ‘thing’ was that?” Ed asks carefully.

The Doctor’s lips pull back over his teeth. “It took so many lives,” he growls. “During the Civil War, so many innocent lives were lost because of it.” He hangs his head. “I could spend my whole life trying, and never atone for the things I’ve done. But I had to do _something_. So I came here to be a doctor, so I could _save_ lives instead of taking them.”

After a beat: “Doctor.” Armstrong’s voice is low. “What exactly was it you were ordered to do research on? What ‘thing’?”

“The Philosopher's Stone.” You all gasp. Your heart skips a beat. “The top-secret materials I took were my research notes,” Marcoh continues; “and the Stone itself.”

You slam your palms down on the table, standing up so fast that you knock your chair over behind you. Your green eye bores into his dark ones. “You have it?!” you exclaim. “You have a Stone? Here?!”

The Doctor’s face darkens. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a small glass bottle. Inside is a thick red liquid.

_It looks like blood_.

He starts to unscrew the cap. “How can that be the Stone?” Ed questions. “It’s liquid!”

Marcoh ignores him, instead unceremoniously pouring the liquid out onto the table. Gasps sound again, and then the mixture gathers in on itself on the table, holding its shape, like mercury. Ed lets out a short breath, and you pull your chair upright and sit again; restlessly, this time, on the edge of your seat, ready to spring up at any moment.

“The Sage’s Stone,” Marcoh rasps. “The Grand Elixir. The Celestial Stone. The Red Tincture. The Fifth Element. Just as the Philosopher's Stone is called by many names, so it can take on many forms.” Ed leans over and carefully pokes the mixture with a gloved hand. It jiggles under his touch, but it remains in its gel-like form. “It is not necessarily a Stone,” he continues, carefully putting the mixture back into the bottle. “This is an incomplete product. There is no way to know when it will reach its limit and become unusable.”

“Finished or not, it demonstrated plenty of power during the Ishvalan Civil War, right?” Ed asks.

Marcoh starts.

“It’s just like the Stone that false priest had in Liore,” you remark. “It was incomplete, but it still did plenty for his alchemy.” A dark grin twists your face. “If imitation Stones are this powerful...well, just imagine a completed product!”

Ed’s palm connects with the table, and this time it’s his turn to jerk to his feet. “Doctor Marcoh,” he says urgently. “We need access to your research materials!”

Marcoh turns slowly to Armstrong. “Major,” he says quietly. “Who exactly are these kids?”

Armstrong turns a deep stare onto the Doctor. “‘These kids’,” he repeats, his voice a low, warning rumble, “are State Alchemists.”

Marcoh’s eyes widen. “ _What?!_ ” he gasps. “But they’re only _children!_ ” He grunts and pinches the bridge of his nose. “After the war...there were many State Alchemists who turned in their certifications; because they refused to serve as human weapons anymore. But now...” He groans. “ _Children?_ ”

Anger flares up in you. _I am not a fucking baby!_ “You think we don’t know what we fucking signed up for?” you snarl. “I know what we’re doing, but this is the only choice we have! If it’s a mistake, then there’s a price we’ll have to pay. But we’ll pay it when the time comes, and not a moment sooner, you got that?”

**...**

“I see,” the Doctor says eventually. “So you three committed the taboo.” He braces his hands on the edges of the crate and leans forward slightly, examining Al’s broken armor with intense scrutiny. “Amazing,” he breathes. “The ability to transmute a specific person’s soul like this...maybe ones as talented as you two would be able to create a complete Philosopher's Stone...”

Ed beams. “So—”

“...But I can't show you my research,” he finishes glumly.

“What?” you protest. “But you just said—!”

“You must not seek after the Stone!”

Ed glowers. “Not even if it’s to get our bodies back?”

“ _Never_ ,” Marcoh confirms vehemently. “It is the Devil’s research. If you chase the Stone, you will go through Hell!”

Anger flares up in you suddenly, hot, fast, and dangerous. “We’ve already _been_ through fucking Hell!” you roar, jumping to your feet and kicking the leg of the table savagely, causing it to jerk several inches back. Steaming, you stalk away, standing stiffly straight in the corner, facing the wall, your arms crossed over your chest.

After a few moments, you hear Doctor Marcoh sigh. “Please,” he whispers. “Please, just leave.”

**...**

The green door is closed and locked tight. The rubber soles of your heavy black boots thunk audibly on the stone stairs. Halfway down, Ed stops beside you. You pause, waiting for him.

He looks back over his shoulder at the house. Marcoh’s words bounce through your head, plaguing you with questions that you’re unable to answer.

_I don’t understand!_ you think to yourself in frustration. _What does it mean? What could be so horrible about it that he had to run away and go into hiding? What does he mean when he talks about atoning for the things he’s done? What things did he do? And why is it the Devil’s research?_

You growl, furious at yourself for not knowing the answers, and slam your human fist forcefully into the brick wall. A bright, blaring jolt of pain shoots up your arm and you let out a hiss between your clenched teeth. Your fingers start to throb as you grasp your wrist tightly, and you relish the pain, clinging to it greedily, savoring the sight of blood pooling over your split knuckles.

It helps to center you.

**...**

Back at train station, you sit on a wooden bench next to Ed, beside his empty right coat sleeve. His other arm rests over the back of the bench, stretching toward Armstrong, who sits on his other side.

“Are you two sure about this?” the Major asks lowly. Not sure what he’s talking about, you and Ed blink up at the man. “Even an incomplete Philosopher's Stone could be useful,” he continues. “You could have taken it from the Doctor by force.”

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t consider it,” you murmur, your eye fixated a crack in the concrete.

“Yeah,” Ed agrees with a dismissive sigh. “I wanted it so bad, I could almost taste it. But still...”

His golden eyes cut to Al, sitting in his crate obediently, not having said a word the entire trip. He speaks now for the first time. “But still,” he continues, his ever-echoing voice unreadable. “We didn’t want it bad enough that we’d be willing to deprive this town of their only doctor to get it.”

Ed’s pleasant, open face is aimed up at the sky. His guard is down—something that doesn’t happen very often, not even around you—and you take the opportunity to examine him in profile.

He’s gotten a bit of a tan lately, his skin just a hint darker than usual. His hair is starting to get long, too. His thick, blonde braid comes to rest low between his shoulder blades, ragged at the end from damage and dead-ends. His eyes are a light amber now, like warm honey. You take notice, for the first time, of a few faint scars on his face. A vertical dash at the edge of his eyebrow, a small mark on the side of his jaw, two short lines crossed over each other on his temple.

They don’t make him any less attractive.

“We learned plenty just by finding out the Philosopher's Stone can be made,” he says, his voice more familiar to you than even your own. A small smile plays on his lips. “Now we’ll just have to find another way to do it!”

You head spins. You don’t understand why a hundred different feelings surge up inside you every time you look at your best friend. You don’t understand why you always want him near you, as if he would disappear if he left. You don’t understand why his voice sends tiny shockwaves down your spine, why every time he says your name, electricity shoots out over your skin.

You let out something of a groan and lean into him, resting your cheek on his hard metal shoulder. You bury your face in his neck, the feeling of the pulse beneath his skin doing things to you that you can't even begin to understand.

You don’t understand why your very soul aches whenever he’s in pain. You don’t understand why your throat tightens every time he touches you. You don’t understand why you want to hold him, why you want him to hold you, why you wish time would stop so that you could enjoy these moments, these moments where he lets down his walls, lets the mask drop, and lets you see the real him.

You don’t understand why your eye is stinging and your throat is tight, and all you want to do is cry.

You feel his shoulder shift, as if he were raising his an arm to wrap around you. But there is no arm there to lift, and that fact sends a dull, throbbing ache through you. He’s missing an arm because you weren’t good enough. He’s suffering because a little knock on the head left you a useless, drunken, stumbling mess.

_Fuck_ ; you’ve done it now. You’ve pulled the trigger, and a bitingly familiar wave of guilt and rage crashes over you without warning, and you’re drowning in it again, drowning your sea of self-hatred, and you so desperately wish that you could find a few moments alone to remedy the screaming itch at the skin of your thighs. You’re drowning in your ocean, and you know with a disgusting, bitter sense of glee that if people knew your deepest truth, they would hate you.

They would realize, finally, what a twisted, sick monster you were. They would treat you, finally, the way you so deserve to be treated—with disgust, with hatred, with contempt. They would stop being kind to you, stop letting you hurt them with your own incompetence. Stop letting you hurt them and then acting as though you hadn’t, as though you hadn’t been the one to cause their problems, as though you hadn’t been the one who’d failed.

This is what you want, what you so desperately want. You want people to know you, so you can stop hurting them and you can get what you deserve. So that they’ll leave you alone, that they’ll stay away from you. You want it so bad.

But you know you’ll never tell them.

You’ll never let them know that your sanity relies on a few tiny pieces of metal, that those sharp little bits of shrapnel are your solace; are your punishment; are your justice.

Because if they knew, they’d stay away, stay away from you, and then you’d be alone. And then it wouldn’t matter how many of the pretty red lines you painted on yourself. You’d still go crazy.

So you keep your secrets to yourself, keep the truest bits of yourself locked away from the world. You put on a smile, put a snarky glint in your single lonely eye, and hide the textured white lines and raised red slashes that decorate your legs, cover them up with cloth as if sweeping them under the rug.

Because no one is allowed to know you. Not Riza, not Armstrong, not Roy or Winry or Al. Not even Ed.

Especially not Ed.

Because if Ed hated you, you know with a perfect, crystalline certainty that you would die.

**...**

The train comes bellowing into the station. The force of it sends your long, wild hair flying in all directions. You’re standing as far away from the others as you can be without raising their suspicion, and you all wait for the train to slow and then stop so that you can board, so that you can get back to Resembool and Winry can clean up after your mistakes—mistakes that you weren’t even the victim of.

“What do you say to not reporting back to Central about Doctor Marcoh’s location?” Ed shouts over the roar of wheels on the track.

“I met a simple, small-town doctor today,” the Major says, perfectly deadpan. “I don’t see any real reason to report that.”

Ed seems pleased by this response. When he turns to you, you avoid his eyes, forcing on a ~~blaringly fake~~ grin. You nod briefly, revealing nothing of the swirling, raging, chaotic emotions howling inside you, so close to the surface. Scratching hard at your leg, you turn back quickly to face the train.

From the edge of your vision, you’re keenly aware of his lingering gaze, something raw and vulnerable pooling just beneath his amber eyes, something that made him look like a lost little boy.

You know he’s worried about you. No matter how much you deny it, no matter how careful you are to keep your feelings away from the surface, he knows that something is wrong. He’s been with you for far too long to believe you when you say it’s just that your hand hurts.

The harder he pushes, the more you splinter, threatening to shatter at any moment.

“Wait!” A gasping, breathless voice pierces the air. Stock stiff, afraid that you’ll break if you move the wrong way, you glance over your shoulder. Doctor Marcoh is bent over, his hands on his knees, wheezing as he attempts to catch his breath.

The train pulls to a stop with a high-pitched squeal. “Doctor Marcoh?” Edward questions.

The man holds out a folded piece of paper. “This is where my materials are,” he whispers as Ed takes the object. “If you’re certain you won’t regret learning the truth in the end, then start by looking here. Look closely,” he says after a beat, his eyes closed. “Maybe you’ll find the truth hidden within the truth.” Your skin crawls—this talk of hidden truth is striking far too close to home, especially in your current eggshell state.

You’re glad when he turns away. “I’ve said too much already,” he says. He begins walking away. “I hope the day comes when you’re able to restore your bodies!”

**...**

The soothing rocking motion of the train helps to balance you immensely, as does the mug of hot chocolate Ed ordered for you after you boarded. You’re now rational again—and thoroughly ashamed of your display of weakness; in front of the Major, no less.

“Brother,” Al says after a while. “What does the note say?”

Ed unfolds the paper. “‘National Central Library’,” he reads aloud. “‘First Branch.”

“I get it,” Armstrong murmurs. “Like hiding a tree in the forest. Finding one book in that giant library will be difficult indeed.”

Ed smirks and tips his face up. His golden eyes burn with determination. “Finally,” he hisses victoriously. “Another clue about the Stone.”

**...**

Five hours later, finally approaching the Rockbell Automail Shop, you’re well-rested and back to normal. Den barks in greeting as you, the brothers, and the Major approach.

“Winry!” Granny calls to the house. “Winry! Our best customers are here! Winry!”

“Yo!” Ed calls happily, raising his arm in a wave. “Granny!”

“We’re home!” Al pipes in.

“Granny!” you beam. “We missed you!”

“Oh dear,” the old woman sighs. “What have you three done now?”

Ed chuckles reluctantly. “A lot has happened,” he admits. “Can you fix us up?”

The Major drops Al’s crate down gently, and Den hops up, licking Al’s armored face happily. The massive man shakes the tiny woman’s hand. It’s a comical sight.

“This is Major Alex Louis Armstrong,” Ed introduces.

“I’m Pinako Rockbell.” She takes a few steps back and looks you and Ed over critically. “I know I haven't seen you two for a while...but you’ve gone and grown _smaller!_ ”

A shadow crosses your face as you immediately start shouting expletives. Ed, on the other hand, looms over Granny, teeth clenched, and speaks with tightly-controlled rage. “You’ve got it all wrong, Granny!” he says with a jaw-clenched smile. “You’re supposed to say, ‘How big you two have grown!’!”

“Why would I say something so clearly untrue?”

“ _I’M STILL TALLER THAN YOU, YOU MINY HAG!!!_ ”

A wrench comes sailing out of nowhere, knocking Edward on the head. This gives you just enough warning to go limp, dropping to the ground like a stone as another wrench goes flying, aimed at where you were an instant before.

“I thought I told you two to call before coming in for maintenance!” Winry shouts angrily.

You look up at your fair-haired friend, shocked at how much she’s changed. She’s grown at least six inches ( _ ~~damn her~~_ ), and her hair is much longer. Her arms are more muscled now, and her chest has grown ( _ ~~totally not a weird observation, Echo. Of course not~~_ )—as has her confidence in her body, it seems. She wears a strapless black leather bandeau, a pair of loose lavender pants with a matching sweater tied around her waist, and mis-matched socks. Her blonde hair is held back into a ponytail with two loose chunks framing her face, all pulled back under a green bandana.

“ _ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME?!_ ” Ed hollers at the girl.

Winry beams at the two of you, letting out an easy laugh. “Welcome back!” she says sweetly, her blue eyes shining.

Ed glares at her from his spot on the ground. “...Yeah,” he grumbles.

**...**

When Winry sees the collection of shattered metal and loose nuts and bolts spread out over the table—all that remains of Ed’s arm—she lets out a shrill scream. She grabs pieces of the shrapnel and holds them in her fists, as if in denial.

“Yeah, sorry,” Ed speaks around his mug of tea. “It’s a little smashed up.”

“A _little_ smashed up? A _little?!_ Ed, do you see what you’ve done to my beautiful creation?! I slaved over this!!!”

Ed smirks. “It’s basically the same; it’s just in smaller pieces!”

Winry’s fist smashes into his face.

As Ed lies twitching on the floor, Winry stands beside Al’s crate, her hands on her hips. “Don’t tell me,” she says dully. “You a little smashed up too, Al? What kind of trouble have you three been getting yourselves into?”

Al blushes, and then grunts as Winry’s foot slams into his face—despite the fact that he can neither blush nor feel pain.

Now both Ed _and_ Al are twitching on the floor. Winry turns her burning eyes on you, and you let out a squeak, cowering behind the Major for protection. “You idiots!” Winry says balefully. “All you ever do is worry me!”

**...**

Granny empties her pipe with a few sharp taps over the ashtray. “Alright,” she says slowly. “I see. In order to get this information you need, you want to go to Central as soon as possible. Am I right?”

“Yeah,” Ed sighs. “This is kinda a rush order.”

Granny examined Ed’s feet carefully, both flesh and metal. “Hmm. It’s not just the arm,” she says thoughtfully. “Your leg needs adjusting, too.”

Winry leans over tauntingly. “Guess your growth’s not completely stunted, after all!” she teases.

Ed growls at her. “ _OH, SHUT UP!_ ” he shouts.

“Leg aside,” Granny continues, “The shape the arm’s in, we’ll have to rebuild _that_ from scratch.”

“Is there any chance you can have it done in a week?”

Granny rises to her feet. “Give us some credit, Ed!” She takes a puff from her pipe, then smirks. “Three days.”

She pulls off Ed’s leg carefully and then shoves on a temporary replacement. “You’ll have to make due with this spare for now,” she says.

Ed stands up and then wobbles, flailing his one arm for balance. “It’s a little difficult to walk on a leg I’m not used to!” he chuckles.

“We’ll be finished before you get used to it.”

“Three days, huh?” Winry says. “Between machining, assembling, connecting, and finishing...that’s three all-nighters.”

Ed’s brow furrows. “Sorry for all the trouble.”

Winry turns and smirks at him over her shoulder. “You want to get back to Central as soon as possible, right? Then I’ll work my butt off for you...but you’d better believe you’re gonna pay a _fortune_ in rush-order fees!”

**...**

Finally, you’re alone. Ed is **_out_** , meaning that he’s visiting ~~Mom’s~~ Trisha’s grave. Al is downstairs with Granny and the Major, and Winry’s busy working on Ed’s arm.

No one will be coming up here to bother you.

You hold your breath as you turn your small black box over and over in your hands. You grab it and hold it tightly, sitting on your bed with your head bowed.

Your fingers toy with the lid, with the small trigger that’ll send the box springing open if pressed. Your breath comes in long, hard pants, trying to fight away your desperate urge.

You know it’s wrong. You know full fucking well that it’s wrong. That it’s bad, it’s stupid, it’s dangerous. It’s violent, and it’s unhealthy.

_~~But you deserve it. It’s all that you deserve.~~ _

But it feels so good.

Of course, it hurts like a bitch—it hurts every time. But that’s the point. It’s your way of trying to purge yourself of your sins—letting them bleed out of you. But it’s also your punishment. Every cut that you make hurts. And it’s not the hurt that feels good—not at all. Every line that you create is a marking of apology, an attempt at Equivalent Exchange, carved into your skin like words in a blank notebook.

No, it’s not the pain that you enjoy; it’s the release. The bleeding. It’s letting out all the guilt, the sin, the innate toxicity that’s in your bloodstream. It’s about freeing yourself—however temporary—from all the badness inside you. It’s about being ~~pure~~ _clean_ , even if for just a moment.

_~~You’ll never be pure, you selfish, disgusting monster.~~ _

With something between a growl and a sob, you yank your black pants down your legs and jerk upright, allowing the little evil black box to tumble to the ground at your feet. You look at yourself in the mirror, disgusted by what you see. Your fingers trace the textured white lines carved deep into your thighs, into the soft, hidden patches of skin. You look at your battered, patch-work body, feeling tears pool in your eye.

_~~You are disgusting. You’re a monster. Why would anybody care about you?~~ _

You can’t help but hate what you’ve done to yourself—what you’ve done to _them_. You stole Al’s body, you stole Ed’s arm and leg. They’ve tried to tell you that it wasn’t your fault, but it’s a lie. It really and truly is a lie.

_~~You destroyed them.~~ _

When Ed had first suggested the idea—really and truly suggested it—he had asked for your opinion. If you had said no, they wouldn’t have gone through with it. It would have all been over right then.

_Why didn’t I say no?_

_~~You didn’t because you are **weak** and **selfish** and **disgusting** and **worthless** and you **wanted** this, didn’t you?~~ _

So now you have to live with this. Live with your guilt, your pain, your own self-loathing. You have to live with the constant reminder of what you did to the two people you care about most; with the knowledge that you ruined their lives forever. You have to live with one eye, with one arm.

The other arm is just a reminder of your own failure. The metal arm that mocks you every time you see it. The metal arm that is just a small fraction of your punishment for your own stupidity. The metal arm that Granny had to take the time out of her day just to readjust, adding a few inches to it—time that could have been much better spent elsewhere.

But she had to waste it on you.

And you aren’t worth it.

_~~You are worth **nothing**.~~ _

Your skin crawls—you want what’s in your box. You want it, you want to feel, you want to bleed, you want to open yourself up and let yours sins flow away. You want it, you want it so bad, but you can't, you can't, you shouldn’t—but you need to. You need it.

You need to.

_~~You deserve this.~~ _

So you yank open the box and rip your skin apart and cry yourself to sleep.

**...**

A while later, Edward opens the door and walks inside. “I’m back!” he calls.

He’s stopped by a...peculiar sight. There is a sparkling Armstrong, tears streaming down his face, shirtless (as usual). Then there is _you_ in his arms, being crushed against his chest, and looking generally confused.

“ **Oh, Edward Elric!** ” the Major cries. “ **What unyielding love to try to bring your mother back to life! What a tremendous sacrifice to give up your own arm in order to transmute your brother’s disembodied soul! What determination to burn down your own home to make sure there was no retreat! COME EDWARD!** ” he roars, tucking you under one arm and attempting to catch the boy under his other. “ **NOW THERE IS HOPE FOR YOU IN THIS COMFORTING EMBRACE!!!** ”

“No!” Ed shrieks, dashing away from the large sparkly man. “Stay away! Don’t rub your chest on me!!! _Waa!_ ”

**...**

“They said it would take three days, right? So give them three days!”

You’re lying outside on the grass with Ed, Al, and Den. Your legs are tightly bandaged—you’ve gone back to your blades more times than you’d like to admit—and every move you make tugs painfully at the half-healed cuts.

“Yeah, I know, I know,” Ed sighs grumpily, staring up at the sky. “It’s just, when I think of a clue to the Stone, sitting in Central Library somewhere...!” He flails his legs and single arm. “I get so impatient!” He pouts up to the clouds.

Then, suddenly, Den starts barking just as Winry rushes out of the house gleefully, holding Ed’s new metal arm in her hands. “Here ya go!” she cheers. “It’s all ready!”

So you all head inside. The Rockbells position Ed on the couch, where he waits, cringing, for them to reattach the nerves in both his arm and leg. Hurriedly, you drop onto the couch beside him, grabbing his flesh hand in your own. He blinks over at you—is that a slight tinge of pink on his cheeks?

Then, suddenly and without warning, both women connect his automail simultaneously. Ed’s whole body seizes up, his hand crushing yours in a death grip, to the point where you have to bite your lip hard enough that you taste blood to keep yourself from crying out. You feel your bones grinding together.

You know what he’s feeling. It’s not _pain_ , per se, so much as total sensory overload. It’s like every touch you could possibly imagine, all rushing through your body in one instant.

But after a moment, he relaxes, and loosens his grip on your hand apologetically. He offers you a small, sheepish grin. Running your tongue over your teeth to make sure there’s no blood visible, you smile back through the pain.

_~~Stop being a baby.~~ _ ~~~~

“Once we have the Philosopher's Stone,” you remind him, “you can kick that pain right out the door.”

“Our biggest source of income,” Granny says nonchalantly. “I’ll be sad to see you two go.” She accidentally tweaks something in Ed’s leg, and his whole body spasms.

“Stay still!” Winry scolds. “Do you want me to do this right, or not?!” She then proceeds to start fangirling about her automail creation, spinning around the room excitedly, breathing heavily, a massive smile painting her close-eyed face.

“Gear-head,” Ed pipes in.

Winry cracks open one eye and glares at him. “You’re lost without me, alchemy freak.”

“Alright,” Granny interrupts. “We’re done.”

Ed assesses his automail, stretching it out. “Yeah!” he says happily. “It’s good!”

“We increased the percentage of chrome this time,” Winry says, “so it should be less prone to rusting. The trade-off is that it’s not as strong, so don’t try anything crazy!”

But Ed is already rushing out the door, with you hot on his heels. “Al! It’s your turn!”

**...**

You and Ed clunk around with Al’s shattered armor. The Major stands behind you two, watching over your shoulders. “You’re going to fix him right here?”

“Yep!” Ed says easily. “You have to know the trick to it, though. Major, you see that seal on the inside of his back? That’s the medium between Al’s soul and the armor. So I have to be sure not to ruin it.”

He stands, clapping his hands together. In a blast of blue alchemy that sends his hair whipping back, Al is all patched up again, on his feet and back to normal.

Well, “normal”.

“There you go!” Ed says. “Good as new.”

“You two ready to try it out?” you challenge.

“Yeah!”

So the two of them face off against you. You prance around, jumping over kicks, ducking under punches, and leaping into the air for a few strikes of your own. You manage to flip Ed over your shoulder before sliding under Al’s legs, kicking the back of his knee out from under him, rolling out of the way before he can land on you. But then Ed is on you like a wildcat, trying to wrestle you to the ground.

The two of you grapple for a while, laughing. Al stands to the side, cheering. Sometimes for you, sometimes for Ed. It really doesn’t matter. It’s mostly just for fun.

But then, as Ed gets you pinned down for a moment, you arch your back sharply to try to buck him off. You let out a hissing gasp, single eye screwing shut in pain as you feel your scabs rip open, a warm wetness gathering below your bindings.

Immediately, Ed lets off, helping to pull you into a sitting position. “Echo?” he says urgently. “Echo, what’s wrong? What hurts?”

You blink back tears, attempting to smile around your grimace. “It’s nothing,” you lie easily. “I just bent my shoulder wrong, that’s all.”

After a moment of examination, he lets it go with a suspicious nod. You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

That was much too close for your liking.

**...**

Early the next morning—before the sun even comes up—the four of you are standing outside the house. Your black box is hidden in a secret pocket of your backpack that serves as a suitcase.

“Thanks again, Granny,” Ed says to the old woman.

“Sure.”

“Hey!” Al asks suddenly. “Where’s Winry?”

“Resting. She stayed up three nights in a row.” Granny pauses. “Want me to wake her?”

“Nah,” Ed says casually, waving off her offer. “It’s okay.” Quieter, he says, “She’d just nag me.”

As you all start walking away, you hear Granny’s voice behind you. “Hold on a second, boys,” she calls to you all.

You turn around with the rest of them, scowling. “Not a boy, Granny!”

She ignores you. “You should come back once in a while; have dinner with us.”

You smirk. “Only if you make stew.”

“Edward. Alphonse. Echo.” Winry’s slurred voice comes from the balcony. She gives a sleepy wave. “Come back soon, ‘kay?”

Ed grins and scratches the back of his head before turning around. “Yeah!” he calls as he walks away, lifting one hand up.

“Whatever you say, Winry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we finally learn what's up with Echo's scratching...


	8. Yet Another Destruction

_“I still have too long a life ahead to get rid of these feelings, right? I want to try doing over the things I’ve left undone. I thought I was running after something carried over from my dreams, yet I’m stumbling into people on this narrow, winding road. It’s not like I want to go back to the way things were back then; I’m just searching for the sky I’ve been losing. Here’s hoping you’ll understand. Stop making that sad face as though you were a victim. Sins don’t end in tears; you have to carry the pain forever. Who am I waiting for in this maze of emotions with no way out in sight? I want to purge myself more simply, as if writing in a blank notebook. What is it I want to escape from? ...Is it reality? It makes me want to scream that we’re alive for things to come true. Can you hear me? I can’t put up with playing it safe. ...I’ve got nowhere to go home to! I’m always grateful for kindness; that’s why I want to grow stronger (I’m on the way). I even welcome this pain for the things I miss.”_  
—Yui, Again  
**...**

The sound Ed makes when you reach the library would be comical, if the situation weren’t so depressing.

All that remains of the once-grand, stone building is some charred bits of rubble. At some point—likely recently, judging from the scent of smoke that lingers faintly in the air—there was a fire in the library—one that managed to consume, it seems, the entirety of the building, leaving it ruin.

 “Doctor Marcoh’s research!” he wails. “It’s all gone!”

You wade through the wreckage, searching for anything salvageable, but what few items left that hadn’t gone up in flames crumbles as soon as you put your hands on it.

“There’s nothing here but ashes,” Ed mutters, dragging one finger along the sooty ground. “Everything’s _gone_.”

There is a beat of silence, and then a woman’s voice rings out. “Major Armstrong!”

All of you turn to see two officers standing at the edge of the destruction, arms lifted in a salute. One is a man and the other is a woman; both wear the blue uniforms of the military.

“Ah!” Armstrong greets, sounding a bit surprised. “Second Lieutenant Ross and Sergeant Brosch; to what do we owe this pleasure?”

The woman—Ross, apparently—stands stiffly straight at attention. “You’ve been ordered to return to the Command Center, sir!” she says.

The man, Brosch, standing equally as stiff, continues. “We will be taking over supervision of Echo Slade, Edward Elric, and Alphonse Elric, effective immediately.”

The Major bows his head and a large sparkle appears next to his face. “Very well,” he consents.

“What is this?!” Ed complains, holding the back of his neck. “Just when I think we’re home free, they saddle us with more _bodyguards?!_ This is getting old!”

**...**

It’s a tight squeeze in the back of car, what with you, Ed, and Al, as well as both Ross and Brosch, all jammed in the back like a clown car.

“All might not be lost,” Ross informs you and the boys. “There is a woman who’s well-acquainted with the materials from the First Branch. Unfortunately,” she continues, “she wasn’t working there anymore.”

Ed scowls out the window. “That sounds incredibly helpful,” he says sarcastically.

Silence falls over the group. After a few moments, you notice that Brosch is staring right at Al with an odd intensity.

Al realizes it, too. “Something wrong?” he asks the blonde-haired man.

“Oh, no, it’s nothing!” Brosch says hurriedly. Then he hesitates. “But...if you don’t mind me asking...why are you wearing a suit of armor?”

Ed and Al exchange panicked glances, and you sigh at them mentally, rolling your eye.

_Next time, could you try to be a little_ more _obvious, please?!_

Admittedly, though, you’re having trouble coming up with a feasible excuse. You decide to go with a classic—something easy and simple.

“Why not?” you counter casually, shrugging. “I’ve got my hobbies, Al has his.” You fix your eye on him, letting something not-so-nice bleed through. “Is that a problem?” you ask flatly—a challenge.

Brosch sweat-drops nervously and waves his hands around frantically. “No!” he promises quickly. “No, no, no; of course not!” He chuckles nervously. “I was just curious, yeah? Not a problem at all!”

You keep him pinned beneath your gaze for another moment before you let your eye slide shut. “Good.”

Ed and Al both stare intently out the window, sweating in the intensely awkward silence.

“Say, Al!” Ed blurts, trying to alleviate the tension in the air. “That’s an awfully nice view outside, right?!”

“Oh, yeah, definitely!” the boy agrees immediately. “It’s gorgeous!”

This time, you sigh out loud. You’ve been in a horrible mood all day, waking up angry at the world, at life, at yourself. You want to rip yourself apart, but you can’t seem to find a chance. You want to bleed, you want to punch something, you want to break something, you want to hurt someone.

You groan to yourself, massaging your temples in exasperation. _I’m surrounded by idiots!_

**...**

Ed pushes open the wooden door to reveal something more like a book-shrine than a house. The room is packed floor to ceiling with books. Shelves line every wall, with at least six more standing upright, leaving little room to walk. It’s dark inside, and messy, with several books strewn carelessly about the small amount of floor space.

Ogling at the massive collection, Ed gapes disbelievingly. “There’s gotta be a _million_ of them!”

As you guys start to squeeze between the shelves, you hear Brosch groaning. “Is there really someone _living_ in here?!” he mutters.

Ross ignores his remarks. “Miss Sheska?” she calls loudly, seeking out the owner of the house. “Are you here? Miss Sheska?”

At the end of the line of people slinking between the towering shelves, you hear a faint, muffled sound and pause. You strain your ears, trying to determine the source.

“ _Is someone there?_ ”

Your jaw drops as you stare at the small mountain of books on the floor, taking up a good deal of space between two shelves, trying to make out details in the shadowed spot. You blink once. _Did I really just hear that?_ you wonder.

“ _Please, somebody help me!_ ”

You let out a shrill squeal as a hand shoots up suddenly from the pile, glasses hooked over the pinky. “There’s somebody under there!” you exclaim, pointing a finger at the pile.

**...**

You sit back on your haunches, panting, watching the high-pitched girl that had been trapped beneath the books. She has short brown hair and big green doe-eyes. She kneels on the floor and then starts bowing repeatedly at you and the others.

“Thank you so much! I’m so sorry! I got myself trapped under a whole mountain of books!!!” she squeals. She pauses to breathe and fixes her glasses. “I thought I was going to suffocate under there!” She bows her head deeply, and then—several octaves lower than before—she pants, “Thank you so much.”

Ed claps the book in his hands closed, watching the girl warily. “So...you’re Sheska, right?”

“Yes.”

“And you worked at the library?”

She flinches, and then her eyes go all sparkly and a look of joy breaks out over her face, causing confusion to break out over _your_ face.

“Oh, the library!” she beams. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful! I’ve loved books my whole entire _life_ , ever since I first learned to read as a girl! That job—was _heaven!!!_ ” A spotlight appears on her as the rest of the room fades to blackness.

_This is way more dramatic than I was expecting.._.

“But I forgot that I was supposed to be working!” the woman continues, “and all I ever did was _read!_ So they _fired_ me! If I don’t get another job, I’ll never be able to move my poor, elderly mother into a better hospital!”

_This woman is like a friggin’ soap opera! On legs!!_

“But I’m hopeless!” she bawls. “All I’m really good at is _reading!_ I’ll _never_ find another job as long as I _live!_ ”

_...If she acts like_ this _all the time, I know_ I _sure as hell wouldn’t hire her!_

“I’m worthless!” she sobs, tears cascading down her cheeks. “Good for nothing! A totally pathetic numbskull!”

Ed slowly raises his hand, looking as if he’s not sure whether to be nervous or amused. “Excuse me?” he says unsurely, struggling to be heard over the bespeckled woman’s wails. “There was one thing we wanted to ask you...”

Instantly— _instantly!_ —Sheska’s tears vanish. “Yes?” she asks innocently, one finger on her chin.

_...What the literal fuck just happened?!_

 Ed seems unconcerned by the sudden change. “Do you remember seeing any research written by a man named Tim Marcoh?”

“Let’s see,” the bespeckled woman muses. “Tim Marcoh...where do I know that name?” A victorious smile crosses her face. “Oh, yes, of course—I remember now!”

“Really?!”

“Oh, yes, I’m absolutely _positive!_ ” she assures. “There were some handwritten notes stuffed into a bookcase where they didn’t belong.”

Ed looks overjoyed. “The notes really _were_ there after all!”

You scowl. “Keyword: were,” you snap angrily. “They’re gone now, remember? Burned to shit in the fire.”

“Do you want to read them?” Sheska asks flatly. “Is that why you're asking?”

“Yeah,” Ed sighs drearily, beginning to shuffle away. “But it’s useless—they’re nothing but ashes now.”

“Sorry to bother you,” Al mumbles dejectedly.

“I remember everything that was in them,” the woman offers innocently. “Does that help at all?”

Ed and Al freeze before lunging at her disbelievingly. _Oh, look at me! I’m Miss Fucking Perfect!_

“It’s just how I am!” Sheska boasts. “I can remember the exact contents of any book I’ve ever read! It would take me awhile, but I could write them up for you.”

Ed and Al are practically in tears. “Thank you, bookworm!” Ed wails, shaking the young woman’s hand vigorously. Al is dancing behind the two and giggling madly. “You’re my hero!”

“You're...welcome?”

Now, don’t get me wrong, you’re happy, too. But you’re also very pissed off and are sort of... _jealous?_ of the older woman, so you don’t want to have anything to do with her, no matter how helpful she may be.

**...**

A few days later, Sheska slams a final bundle of papers down on her desk with a loud _bang_. They sit with the other thirty-some bundles, all stacked in piles of varying sizes.

“Here it is!” she announces proudly, waving her hand at the collection. “Complete copies of all Tim Marcoh’s notes!”

You all take the time to gape at the mass of papers. Over the past few days, you’ve warmed up to the eccentric librarian slightly, though you do still kind of bristle around her.

“Sorry,” the woman continues. “I know five days is a long time to wait, but there was quite a lot to write down!” Ed picks up the first bundle; the title page reads _1000 Recipes for Today’s Menu_.

“Unbelievable!” Al declares. “There are some amazing people in this world!” Sheska beams under his praise.

Meanwhile, Ed skims through the stack of papers in his hands. “Are these really Doctor Marcoh’s research notes?” His tone is unreadable.

“They sure are! Come and take a look at them!” She holds up two stacks of paper. “Written by Tim Marcoh: _1000 Easy Recipes_!”

“Six cups of rice,” Ross rattles off dully, “One carrot, two onions, salt...” She sweat-drops. “Great, does this mean we came all this way for a _cookbook?_ ”

“Miss?” Brosch questions the librarian, pointing dubiously at the bundle in his hands. “What part of this made you think it was an important document?”

Sheska looks like a kicked puppy, placing one hand over her heart. It makes you feel both bad for her and also annoyed at her. “Is it not what you're looking for?” she quavers. “All I did was copy down what I remembered...!”

Brosch facepalms. “So this was all a wild goose chase?”

“Sheska?” Ed’s voice is quiet. “Are you absolutely sure that this is a flawless reproduction of the notes?”

The brunette pauses for just an instant, thinking carefully before answer. “Yes!” she says with conviction. “I’m one hundred-percent certain!”

Ed turns to face her with a grin. “Then thank you very much!” he says firmly. “You’re incredible!” He hoists one of the bundles into his arms. “Alright; let’s get these papers back to the library!”

On his way out the door, Ed pauses. “Oh! I almost forgot Sheska’s fee!” He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a small black notebook and a pen. He scribbles a number on it and then rips the page out, pressing it into Ross’ hands along with his pocket watch. “Here,” he says smoothly. “This is my registration number, and the pocket watch for ID. “Withdraw that amount from my annual research grants and make sure Sheska gets it!”

“Yes, sir,” Ross replies. “I’ll get on it right away. I assume I can take this note right down to the State Alchemist office?”

“That should work!”

Nobody notices you as you slip something small into Ross’ pocket—a note of your own, along with your pocket watch. Ross will find it when she gets to the office.

Ed turns. “Well Sheska, you’re a lifesaver. Bye!”

Before you leave, you pause at the door to the woman’s house, turning around to face the owner. You examine her face briefly, feeling guilty about your mild dislike. It’s not her fault, after all. She’s a great person, who’s been nothing but helpful, and you’ve been treating her rudely.

Sheska blinks at you, tilting her head slightly to one side. At this point, it’s only the two of you and Ross in the house, although the last woman is too busy gaping and the paper in her hand to notice anything else. “Echo?” Sheska questions innocently. “Is something the matter?”

You capture your bottom lip between your teeth, gnawing at the skin there. Heat rises in your cheeks, coloring them pink. Suddenly, you bow deeply to the green-eyed woman, trying to avoid spilling the papers piled in your arms.

Eye trained on the floor, bent low at the waist, you muster up your courage. “Thank you for everything, Miss Sheska,” you murmur, blush deepening. “You’ve been a great help, and...and I’m very grateful to you.”

With that, you turn and rush out the door leaving your words, both spoken and unspoken, still hanging in the air.

_Thank you for everything Miss Sheska. You’ve been a great help, and...and I’m very sorry._

**...**

_(Outside POV)_

When Echo leaves, Sheska returns to Ross’ side. The dark haired woman tilts the small piece of paper in her hands so that the librarian can see what’s written on it.

When she reads the number, she’s shocked. “ _Did he miss a decimal point somewhere?!?!_ ” she shrieks, almost _afraid_ of the number of zeroes written on there. “ _Wow!_ How does a boy like that have this kind of money to throw around?!”

**...**

_(Second Person POV)_

You like the library a lot. The room is small, but comfortable so—large enough that there’s plenty of room to pace around, but not so big that you feel like you could get lost in it. There is a bookshelf lining one wall, and a single large window with soft beige curtains rests on the opposite one, letting light come pouring through, illuminating the room enough that electricity isn’t needed. A cheerful picture of rolling hills hangs on yet another wall, their grassy tops pocked with colorful flowers. A glossy mahogany table rests the middle of the floor, with chairs of the same material on each side. The floor is a pristine white tile, with a smooth wooden paneling over the base of the otherwise white walls.

Yes, you like this room a lot—which you find surprising. Why does this room appeal to you? It’s cheerful and clean and smooth, it’s bright and welcoming and open. None of those things are traits you associate with yourself (besides maybe clean—you are a firm believer in personal hygiene, thank you very much!).

No, you dress in all black, with black pants and leather boots, a metal arm hanging always at your side. The black clothes, the eyepatch, the metal glinting at your ears—you had gotten them pierced with Winry when you both were eleven; three small studs glimmer in each earlobe and two small loops on top—all of these things are, generally speaking, intimidating. Despite your small stature, people often pause, even for just an instant, before approaching or interacting. Your flaming hair—such a bright, bright red, unnaturally so—is worn loose and wild, the ends ragged and uneven, with knots and tangles the only things adorning its lengths. Your most common expression is either a smile or a scowl—two opposite sides of the spectrum. Your hands are rough and calloused, fingernails short and jagged from being bitten. You started cursing after Trisha had died, and over the years, these expletives have become as normal a part of your vocabulary as words like _it_ and _the_.

No, you are not _smooth_. You are not _cheerful_ , or _welcoming_ , or _open_. You do not draw people in, you are not appealing, not like this lovely little room in the library.

Your thoughts are cut short by a flare of pain that wells up as your fingernail catches at a particularly painful cut on your leg, ripping scab off sharply. You hiss under your breath and press your palm against the cut, not wanting to get blood all over your pants.

A flicker of movement catches your eye, and you return your attention to Brosch, who stands at the foot of the table, and also to one of the manuscripts that rests in your mismatched grip.

“I don’t understand,” he sighs. “These are _cookbooks!_ What could they possibly have to do with alchemy?”

“Alchemy is a powerful art,” Ed says, not lifting his gaze from the papers in his hands. “It can be incredibly dangerous if misused. In order to prevent that, alchemic research is _always_ encrypted.”

You nod in agreement. “These notes here are designed to look like recipes,” you explain. “That’s what any normal person would see if they looked. The only way to know that they’re not what they seem is to...well, to _know!_ Only the alchemist who originally wrote the encryptions can understand them.”

“If they’re so heavily encrypted,” Brosch asks, “then how are you going to be able to decipher them?”

A lopsided grin tugs at one corner of your mouth. “With effort,” you reply.

“We’ll have to use all our alchemical knowledge,” Ed adds, gazing intently at the papers. “It won't be easy.”

Brosch’s lips pull down uneasily. “ _Wow_ ,” he says, scratching the back of his head. “That’s sounds really complicated.”

The other side of your mouth rises to join the first. This man is...you like this man. The way he’s blunt is endearing—because he’s blunt in such a nontraditional way. It’s not rude; it’s just... _honest_ , like he says the first thing that comes to his mind. It’s bluntness is its most innocent form.

Ed’s face changes. “Al, Echo!” he says intensely. “There’s a section in here about green tea!”

“Green tea?” Al repeats, turning to look over his shoulder. “Are you thinking what I am?”

“Uh-huh,” Ed agrees with a hint of a smirk. “It might be a reference to the Green Lion of metallurgic alchemy! Do we have copies available of _Flamel’s Codex_ or _Lambsprings Concerning the Philosopher's Stone_?”

You nudge the pile of books stacked next to you closer to Ed. “Right here.”

“All right! Take a look at this here...” He points at a section of Marcoh’s notes and you slide from your chair, crossing around the table to sit on one edge of it next to Ed’s chair, peering at the spot he’s pointing to. Al crouches on the blonde-haired boy’s other side, also reading the section of text. “And here, too, you see?”

“Yeah!” Al agrees. He points to another spot lower on the page. “And maybe here too, you see?”

“Great! We’ve got a place to start,” Ed cheers. “Let’s do this!”

**...**

Several hours later, the atmosphere in the room is significantly less excited. Ed is slumped over the table, his cheek pillowed against one of the seemingly-infinite stacks of paper. Al is sitting on the floor, leaning dully against the bookshelf, head tipped up, his glowing red eyes dimmer than normal. You are on your back under the table, arms flung wide, one of your legs bent, the sole of your boot pressed to the floor. Your other foot is propped up above your head, heel resting on a chair. Your eye gazes unseeingly on the bottom of the table above you.

“Ngh,” Ed groans, his voice slurring slightly. “Why does this encryption have to be so damn hard to figure out?”

Letters and number float before your eye, swimming and dancing around teasingly. You let said eye fall shut and rub at it with your flesh fingers, as if trying to erase the phantom writing. When you open your eye again, you find that it only half-worked.

“Brother?” Al mumbles. You roll your head to one side to see a book speared on the horn on his head. “Maybe we should ask Doctor Marcoh about this directly...”

“Hell no!” you cry, sitting up sharply and ramming your head on the underside of the table with a sharp _crack_. You let out a groan and fall back again, wincing at the sharp ache in your forehead. “Ow,” you mutter, rubbing at the spot. _At least the letters are gone now_. “Anyway, we absolutely will _not_ go talk to Mister Marcoh about this! That would be admitting defeat!”

Al pulls the book off his head. “So this is a contest now?”

A timid voice sounds at the door. “Excuse me...?” You sit up to see the owner of the voice, but fall back down when you end up slamming your head against the table again. “ _Fuck!_ ” you groan as you go slightly cross-eyed, stars dancing before you briefly. You settle for rolling your head sideways.

The person at the door turns out to be Sheska.

“Thanks to the money you gave me,” she says after Ross and Brosch go to sit outside the door, “I was able to move my mother to a better hospital. I really appreciate it.” She bows to you and Ed.

You grin. The note you’d slipped into Ross’ pocket had your own account number and an amount written that was equal to the one Ed had written.

Ed grins as well. The boys don’t know that you paid her, too. It wasn’t a secret, you just didn’t feel the need to tell them. In fact, nobody knows except for you, Sheska, Ross, and whoever it was that handled the money at the bank. “It’s no problem,” the boy says with a wave.

“Have you guys had any luck deciphering it so far?”

The exhaustion written on all of your faces is obviously answer enough for her.

“Have you found another job yet?” Al asks.

The roles are reversed.

“Anyway,” Sheska says with a smile, “you three made me feel better! It’s good to know that even a pathetic mess like me can help out sometimes!” All that with a smile, and you wonder if maybe you and Sheska aren’t so different after all.

“You’re _not_ a pathetic mess, Sheska,” you blurt, crawling out from under the table to sit cross-legged on the floor.

“I agree!” Al says firmly. “I think the dedication you show to reading is a talent all on its own. And besides that, your memory is incredible! You should have more faith in yourself!”

Sheska’s eyes are soft. “ _Thank_ you, Al!” she says warmly, a slight blush tinting her cheeks.

Whatever words she may have said next are cut off by the sound of a hearty voice bursting from the door. “Yo!”

“Mister Hughes?” you ask, surprised.

“Major Armstrong told me you were here,” he says, slamming his palms down on the table next to and above you. You decide to slip into one of the chairs around the table, to lessen your chances of getting stepped on. “What gives, you two?! I _told_ you to give me a shout the next time you guys made it to Central!”

“Oh, uh, I...” Ed scratches the back of his head. “Something urgent came up. We’re sorry.”

Hughes starts talking at high-speed, and you hear Brosch and Ross whispering (loudly). “They talk to Colonel Hughes as if he’s an old friend!”

“Just how high up _are_ these kids?!”

Hughes’ tone changes, and you fix your attention back onto him. “We’ve had a lot of cases to deal with lately,” he says seriously. “And we’re still working on getting the Tucker/Chimera situation handled.” He freezes when he realizes what he said, wincing at the pained expression on your and Ed’s faces. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he gasps. “I guess that brings up some unpleasant memories, huh?” He sighs and slides into a chair. “Anyway, as if things weren’t bad enough for us already, the First Branch had to burn down in the middle of all this.”

“That’s been a problem, huh?”

“A big one. All of our case records were stored in that location! Trying to work without them—that’s a bit of a picnic, let me tell you!”

You can tell by their faces that Ed and Al have the same idea as you. A wicked grin twists your face. “Well then, Mister Hughes, have we got the woman for you!” All of your eyes roll to Sheska, still standing by the table.

She to realizes what you're talking about, and jumps on the chance. “Well, I _have_ read the military’s criminal case records, and I _do_ remember them all...”

Maes leans eagerly over the table. “That’s all I needed to hear, lady! You’re hired! My office pays well, so don’t worry!”

“Oh! I—ah! You’re saying you want me?!” Sheska stammers. “I—ah! Thanks so much! I’ll have faith, just like you told me to!” She’s still squealing gleefully as Maes grabs her by the back of the shirt and starts dragging her away. “Oh, thank you; thank you!!!”

**...**

**[Insert several days’ worth of studying and emotional breakdowns here]**

**...**

“To Hell with it!” Ed roars, sweeping his arm over the table and knocking everything off of it. Papers go flying, books tumbling to the ground. You let out a shout of your own, shoving yourself out of your chair violently, sending it careening backward where it crashes into the wall. You pace over to the bookshelf, gripping it tightly and leaning your forehead against the wooden surface, letting your hair fall forward to hide your face.

You’re dimly aware of Ross’ and Brosch’s entrances, but you can’t bring yourself to look at them. Or at Al, or Ed, for that matter.

“What did you guys _do_ to this place?!” Brosch questions

“Don’t get angry because you can’t crack it,” Ross chastises, something rather like condescendence in her voice. “Throwing things won’t help.”

The words Al speaks are hollow— _just like him_. “We did crack it.” You hear the soldiers gasp. “We cracked the code and decrypted the notes.”

“Really?” Brosch cheers. “But that’s a _good_ thing, isn't it?!”

Ed’s fist slams down onto the floor. “There’s nothing ‘good’ about this, damn it!” he roars, and you tighten your grip on the bookshelf, fingernails biting into the soft wood. “This really _is_ the devil’s research,” Ed continues in a softer voice. “It should have been destroyed. Doctor Marcoh was _right_ ; it’s evil.”

“W-what’s so evil about it?”

A dark, low chuckle escapes your lips—it is not at all a happy sound. Another bitter laugh rises up and you swing your head around to face the two dumbfounded soldiers, trapping them in your haunted, one-eyed gaze. “Oh, it’s _great_ ,” you promise them, teeth grinding behind a smile. “No, really! You’re just gonna _love_ this!” Your hands come up to grip your skull, fingers tangling into your red hair. “Do you know what a Philosopher's Stone is made of? Do you know what has to happen to create one?” You take their silence as an answer. You lean forward slightly, grin widening and tears starting to pool in your eye. Your voice drops to a whisper. “People have to _die!_ ”

The two gasp, and you whirl back around, facing the wall again so that they don’t see your tears. “I know!” you shout, flinging your arms out to the sides. “Isn’t it just fucking _perfect?!_ ” You slam your left hand into the wall so hard that your automail lets out a sharp _creak_. You ignore it. “That’s right,” you continue, your voice now a hush. “To make even just one little Stone, you have to make _multiple_ human sacrifices!”

“How could the military authorize research into something so horrible?” moans Brosch.

“I can’t believe it!” Ross agrees. “How _awful!_ ”

You don’t bother to come up with a response. You’re too busy staring at your metal fist, still pressed against the clean white wall. There is now a spiderweb of deep cracks and fractures in the plaster surface. Your breath hitches, and you slowly lean forward to press your forehead against the ruined wall, next to the point of impact. Your anger drains, abandoning you, and leaving you just...sad.

_Yet another destruction_.

“Do us a favor,” Ed says, and his voice sounds older than it should be—older than it has any right to be. “...don’t speak to anyone about this.”

“But sir—!”

“ _Please!_ ” he begs. _(Why does it break your heart to hear him like that?)_ “Just...pretend you never heard any of it.”

**...**

The creaky ceiling fan spins overhead, achingly slow. The room is dark. Ed is sprawled out on the couch, with you hunched over at the foot and Al sitting behind it.

_Creak._

_Creak._

_Creak._

_Creak._

Al breaks the silence. “Brother,” he calls. “Echo. You two should really get something to eat.”

Just the thought of food makes you want to throw up. “No thanks,” you mutter blandly. “Not hungry.”

_Creak._

_Creak._

_Creak._

Surprisingly, it’s Ed who speaks next. “Pretty awful, huh?” Ed lifts his automail arm up over his head. “You know guys, it’s like...we try so hard to grasp the truth, but it always slips away. Now that we finally have caught it...turns out the truth is too dangerous to hold.” He covers his eyes with that same cool metal. “I’m starting to think that god has a special way of torturing those who commit the taboo. I wonder if...if it’ll be like this all our lives.”

_Creak._

_Creak._

“You know Al,” he continues after a moment. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while now. I guess I’ve been too afraid to say it.” Your eye rolls up to the ceiling and you pause your incessant scratching at your leg. _He’s really going to say it?_

_Creak._

“What?” Al urges.

Ed takes a breath. “...I—”

He’s cut off by a sudden pounding on the door—one that causes you to leap nearly out of your skin. “Elric brothers!” a voice roars demandingly, causing Ed to bolt into a sitting position. “Echo! I know you’re in there! Open up! This is the Major!”

You all stare at the door. “What do we do?”

“We ignore him, that’s what.”

But that plan is for naught, as the impressively-muscled (and ever-sparkly) man breaks down the door. Behind him stand Ross and Brosch, looking traumatized.

“I know what it said, my young ones!” Armstrong roars, causing all three of you to scream. Tears shoot from the giant man’s eyes, as he goes off on another of his famous, emotionally-driven rants. “ **How tragic! To think that the Philosopher's Stone is built on such a terrible secret!!!** ”

Glares are shot toward the two soldiers, who have the nerve to look sheepish.

“We’re sorry.”

“It’s hard to keep quiet when someone like _him_ asks!”

Three sparkles float in the air around Armstrong’s head. “How awful to think that the military could be behind something like this,” he sobs. “The truth is more truthful than we bargained for.”

Ed freezes. “The truth...?”

“What is it, brother?”

“Do you remember what Doctor Marcoh said at the station?”

_...Look closely...maybe you’ll find the truth hidden within the truth..._

Ed puts a thumb on his chin. “I didn’t have a clue as to what he was talking about then, but _now_...! It’s the same as with alchemical notes. What you can see on the surface is only a _portion_ of the truth!”

You grit your teeth. “So there’s more.” You groan. “Of course there’s more.”

Flicking on the lights, Armstrong drops a map off on the table in your hotel room. “Currently, there are four operational alchemy laboratories that have connections to the government. We can narrow it down even further. Marcoh worked in the Third Laboratory; we should start with that one—it’s the most suspect.” He points it out on the map.

You lean in closer to the map, examining it carefully. “The boys and I have been to all the laboratories in the city,” you muse. “None were doing anything remarkable...huh?” The last comes as you spot something on the map that doesn’t add up. You point it out immediately. “The Fifth Laboratory?” you question. “Why is it crossed out?”

“It was designed to be another laboratory,” Ross explains. “But it’s not currently in use. The building isn't structurally sound, so it’s been classified as ‘off-limits’.”

A dent forms between your brows. You glance at Ed, sitting beside you, from the corner of your eye. He catches your gaze and gives a small nod—you’re thinking the same thing.

“It’s there.”

Brosch leans in. “Huh? But how can you be so sure?”

Your finger glides over, landing on another building. “There’s a prison right next door,” you explain.

“Okay, so?”

You roll your eye impatiently. “What’s the main ingredient for a Philosopher's Stone?”

Brosch leans back. “You said it needed live humans... _eugh!_ ”

“There’d be plenty of criminals in the prison,” Ed explains. “Officially, they’d be classified as ‘executed’.”

Ross looks like she’s going to be sick. “They’re using the prisoners to make the Stones.”

“Don’t look at us like that!” you say defensively. “We don’t like talking about this any more than you do!”

“Prisoners from other jurisdictions could be used, too,” Al says. “I wonder if the government is involved.”

Ross groans. “Why do I have the feeling that we’re getting involved in something _really_ dangerous here?”

Al would roll his eyes if he could. “That’s why we told you to pretend you never heard anything!” he gushes.

The Major rolls up the map and starts for the door. “This has the potential to become a political nightmare before long,” he says. “I’ll look into what we’ve talked about tonight. In the meantime, officers, speak of this to no one.”

Ross and Brosch salute. “Sir!”

Armstrong turns to you and the brothers. “And you, children: _behave yourselves!_ ” His words are menacing, and as if on queue, the three of you flinch.

Your reaction does not go unnoticed, and the large man starts fuming. He towers over you and the boys, fist shaking in threat. “I know you three!” he rages. His eyes glow red. “You were thinking of sneaking into this building and taking a look around, weren’t you?! **Admit it!!!** ”

You all hold up your hands, feigning innocence. You shake your heads vehemently.

“No!”

“No, we weren’t!”

“Of course not!”

“No way!”

“We promise!”

Your voices jumble together, and finally, the Major lets it go.

**...**

But, later that night, you and the boys creep about the city streets, headed toward the Fifth Laboratory. “Yeah, sure we weren’t,” Ed mutters.

You shush him and lean around a corner to peer at the entrance to the building. A lone lamp overhead pools a yellow glow on the ground, illuminating a bored-looking guard standing before the door. “Hah,” you remark, leaning back behind the wall. “A guard posted at a ‘vacant’ building? Seems a little... _fishy_ , no?”

“This _is_ suspicious,” Al agrees. “How do we get in?”

Ed examines the weathered stone wall at your backs. “We could make our _own_ entrance,” he suggests.

You shake your head. “No. The guard would notice the sound, if not the light. Maybe I could make a smokescreen...?” You purse your lips, and then shake your head again. “No; we can’t do that either. Same reasons.” You growl, racking your brain for an idea.

Your head tips back and a gleam at the top of the wall catches your eye. _Barbed wire...?_ “Hey Al,” you say, poking Ed in the chest and pointing up to show him the wire. “Give Ed and I a lift up, will ya?”

Al laces his gloved fingers together, making a platform for you to place your foot. Once you’re there, he sends you catapulting up to the top of the wall.

You catch the edge of it with one hand and pull yourself up, almost slipping off as you do so. Within a few moments, you and Ed are perched on the top of the wall, legs dangling over the edge.

From this high up, you can see the whole city.

Using metal hands so you don’t cut yourselves, you and Ed unwind the barbed wire, passing it down to Al like a rope.

He tugs on it a few times to make sure its stable before climbing up the wall. As he reaches the top, you fling yourself the other side, landing on the grass below with a soft _thud_. Pain flares up in your ankles at the impact, and you stumble forward a few steps when you stand.

Glancing around to make sure there’s nobody there, the three of you dart forward silently.

In addition to the guard at the outer wall, the door to the lab itself is all boarded up, done so thoroughly that it would be impossible to uncover it.

Ed crosses his arms over his chest. “They’re not taking any chances, are they?” He cups his chin in one hand, glancing around. “Hey...”

He points out a small air-duct exhaust tunnel high up on the wall, a flimsy metal grate over the opening.

Al hoists the two of you up on his shoulders and Ed works the grate free and drops it to the grass. He places his hand on the boy’s helmet. “Echo and I are going to check this out. You’re going to have to wait here.”

“You two will be fine on your own?”

Ed begins squeezing through the opening, his legs still dangling out. “Whether we’ll be fine on our own isn’t really the issue,” he calls back, his voice sounding tinny from the echo-y tunnel. “You’re too big to get through here.” And then he crawls into the tunnel.

Al pouts (sort of), looking dejected. “It’s not like I _asked_ to get this big!” he mumbles.

You pat his shoulder reassuringly. “It’s okay, buddy,” you soothe, adjusting yourself so that you’ll fit through the tunnel. “You’re not _that_ big. Ed’s views are just a little skewed.” You let your voice drop to a whisper. “You know, ‘cause he’s so _little_.”

Ed’s voice rings out from air-duct. “I HEARD THAT, YOU BRAT!!!”

You let out a chuckle and worm your way into the duct. “Well,” you call back, “wish us luck!”

**...**

Pretty soon, you catch up to Ed. It’s dark inside the tunnel, and hot. The walls send every sound bouncing back at you from all sides, which is very disconcerting.

“Damn,” Ed hisses. “It’s even tighter in here than I thought.”

A wicked grin twists your face. “That’s what he said.”

Ed lets out a strangled choking sound that sends you bursting into peals of laughter. He splutters for a response. “Oh my—I can’t even—why would you—It’s really not _that_ funny!!”

“ _Yes—it—is!”_ you choke out between breaths.

You can hear Ed gritting his teeth as your laughter subsides. “ _Anyway_ ,” he says pointedly, “all I’m saying is that we wouldn’t be able to fit in here if we were regular-sized. It’s lucky we’re pretty small.”

His words only serve to set you off again. “ _You’re not helping your case here!_ ” you squeal, relishing in the way he stammers awkwardly.

“You _know_ that’s not what I meant!” he protests. “And I’ll inform you that I’m _perfectly_ —!” he stops, and you can just picture his red face in your mind. “ _Never mind!_ Since when do you even _make_ jokes like that?! And—” he stops again. “NO!” he yells suddenly, startling you so bad that your laughter ends abruptly. “I JUST CALLED MYSELF A TINY LITTLE PIPSQUEAK!!!”

You begin to wonder if there are any negative effects to copious amounts of laughter.

After a while of crawling (now in silence), you can’t help but notice that _damn, Ed’s butt looks really good in leather pants_.

The instant the thought crosses your mind, your face first goes totally pale, and then red-hot in blush. You jerk violently, head slamming into the ceiling.

Ed stops in front of you, and you bury your burning face in your hands. “Echo?” he calls back. “Are you alright?”

“Oh, yeah, totally!” you call back, aiming for a natural tone but receiving one far too pitchy to ever be considered normal. You let out a breathy chuckle. “No, yeah! Of course! I’m totally fine. Never been better!”

_What the actual fuck, Echo?!_ you scold yourself internally. _Why? Why would you even_ look _there?! I—no! I don’t care if it was right in front of you; that doesn’t mean that you have to_ look _!!!_ You give yourself a mental groan. _I’m never going to be able to un-think that, either_...

Ed seems doubtful. “Are you sure that you’re okay?” he responds. “You’re not suddenly claustrophobic or anything, right?” His voice carries a teasing lilt.

“Who, me?” you stutter, chuckling nervously. “No! No, of course not. _Pssh_ , yeah right! I’m fine. Totally fine. Downright _peachy_ , in fact!”

_You are such a fucking dumbass_ , you inform yourself. _You are_ actually _a fucking dumbass. I can’t believe you said that. Not to mention your wonderful ability to “play it cool”. Way to fucking go, Echo! No, really! You should win a fucking prize! “And the ‘Most Awkward Tsundere’ award goes to...Echo Slade!_

**...**

After a time, Ed punches out a grate in the base of the tunnel, and the two of you drop out of the hole it leaves behind. You bend your knees deeply when you land, but your ankles still prickle in protest.

A few florescent lights lining the base of the walls emit a low buzzing sound, like an annoying mosquito.

“There are lights on,” Ed points out. “ _‘Not currently in use’_...who are they trying to fool?”

You smirk. “This is it, alright!” you agree. You tug on his sleeve. “You ready for this?”

He grabs your flesh hand in his, and it takes every ounce of willpower you possess not to turn red. “Baby, I was _born_ ready!” he says, tugging you down the hall at a sprint, hands still clasped between you.

You run after him, now unable to keep the blush off your cheeks. After your lovely... _observation_ in the air-duct, too... The memory makes your cheeks darken considerably.

Ed glances back, a cocky grin on his face, and he catches your blush, causing him to laugh.

Your mouth opens, closes, then opens again as you flounder for something to say. Finally, you settle on, “Don’t call me _baby_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Edcho is real!~~


	9. A Final Embrace

_“I still have too long a life ahead to get rid of these feelings, right? I want to try doing over the things I’ve left undone. I thought I was running after something carried over from my dreams, yet I’m stumbling into people on this narrow, winding road. It’s not like I want to go back to the way things were back then; I’m just searching for the sky I’ve been losing. Here’s hoping you’ll understand. Stop making that sad face as though you were a victim. Sins don’t end in tears; you have to carry the pain forever. Who am I waiting for in this maze of emotions with no way out in sight? I want to purge myself more simply, as if writing in a blank notebook. What is it I want to escape from? ...Is it reality? It makes me want to scream that we’re alive for things to come true. Can you hear me? I can’t put up with playing it safe. ...I’ve got nowhere to go home to! I’m always grateful for kindness; that’s why I want to grow stronger (I’m on the way). I even welcome this pain for the things I miss.”  
—Yui, Again_

**...**

You and Ed stand at the base of the huge transmutation circle painted on the floor of the Laboratory. A small pillar rises from the center of it, a simpler circle drawn on its face.

Remnants of dried blood still encrust a few of the circle’s points.

“What is all this?” Ed wonders aloud.

You gaze at the circle warily. “Probably how they transmute a Philosopher's Stone,” you reply.

“Yes.” A low voice drawls out of the darkness, the echoing nature of the room making it impossible to tell from where. “That’s right.” A large armored figure slowly steps from the shadows at the far end of the room. “I don’t know who you are, kid, but you sure figured out a lot just by looking at a transmutation circle.”

You peer at the approaching figure blandly. “Yeah,” you reply, “I’ve been told I’m pretty quick. Now, who the fuck are you, pal?”

“The one in charge of guarding this place from curious brats.” His sentence ends there, but the implied _like you_ hangs heavy in the air, grating at your nerves. “For the time being, let’s just say that my name is Number 48.” As he speaks, he continues walking toward you and Ed. As he approaches, you can see that he has a massive sword in one hand, hanging lazily at his side. “And believe me,” he adds warningly; “I am not your _‘pal’_. My orders are to dispose of anyone who wanders in here, poking their noses where they don’t belong. Try not to take it personally, _punk_.”

You sneer at him. “Don’t worry; we won’t.” Together, you and Ed clap your hands. Ed sharpens the top of his automail into a blade, and you turn the ground beneath you first into to dust, and then into a solid black scythe, which you grip tightly in both hands. “Just don’t _you_ take it personally when these two ‘punks’ kiss your ass from here to Briggs!”

The man seems unimpressed by your displays. “So you’re alchemists, are you?” he hums. Suddenly, he lunges at the two of you, so fast that he is a blur. In an instant, he’s in front of you, leaning his large helmeted head at your level. “Alright, then—let’s see what you two have got!”

He swings his sword with lighting speed, and you hardly have time to go limp, collapsing to the floor to avoid being sliced in half while simultaneously contorting so you don’t impale yourself on your own weapon.

Back pressed to the ground, automail arm pinned beneath you along with your scythe, the man’s figure looms above you. He raises him sword over his head and brings it down, hard and fast. You raise up one leg and kick the hilt of his sword away as hard as you can. The force of your kick sends the blow to one side, but he moves with the momentum, spinning around and going in for another overhead hit.

This time, you don’t have time to block or dodge, and time slows down. You squeeze your eye shut and wait for the ending blow.

_At least I go down fighting_.

But then there is a metallic _CLANG_ and the impact never hits. Opening your eye, you see Ed above you, struggling with the force of the attacker’s blade against his metal arm.

Heart racing, you leap to your feet, swinging your scythe toward Number 48’s ribs. The man leaps back, casing Ed to stumble as the pressure he was straining against suddenly vanishes. Grunting, you have to kick the pole of your weapon down to avoid stabbing him, otherwise unable to stop the momentum.

“A prosthetic arm, huh?” the man jeers, darting forward. You can only assume that the question is directed toward Ed. Considering how you make no effort to hide your automail, unlike the blonde, who wears a coat and gloves to conceal his own, it would be a bit redundant to question whether your arm is fake. “No matter. My sword can pierce steel as well as flesh!”

He strikes out hard at the still-off-balance Ed, who just manages to catch the blade against his arm before he is decapitated.

Taking advantage of his distraction, you push up hard off the ground, raising your weapon in the air and slashing it down in a deadly arc. Just before the hit can land, however, Number 48 disappears. Again, you come close to nearly killing Ed yourself.

A few more attacks are exchanged, the roles of offense and defense being constantly shifted, and then Ed lands a solid kick that sends the man stumbling backward.

Ed grins madly. “My, my, what’s this?” He gestures toward the man. “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that you’re hollow inside!”

His words cause both Number 48 and yourself to falter. “You’re a perceptive one,” the man says carefully, lowering his sword slightly.

“I could tell by the sound,” Ed explains, and you remind yourself to retake a ready stance. “I spar against someone like you all the time.”

The man’s eyes narrow. “So there are people like me on the outside too, are there? That’s...surprising.”

Ed smirks. “Yeah, it makes me sick.”

Shocked, you feel your mouth fall open as you cut your eye sideways. “Ed—!”

But he continues on as if you haven’t spoken. “To think, there's more than one idiot in the world who came up with the _brilliant_ idea of bonding a disembodied soul to a suit of armor.”

“Hmm.” The man lowers his sword further. “Perhaps I should introduce myself again. 48 is the number I was assigned when I was on death row. Back when I still had a _living_ body, I was better known as Slicer. I was a mass murderer, you see.”

A comment bubbles up on your tongue, but you decide to bite it back, not exceptionally eager to renew the fight.

“So you were slated for execution,” Ed muses aloud. “Tell me something, then. This laboratory; are they using condemned prisoners like you to make Philosopher's Stones here?”

“Well, I can’t tell you,” Slicer admits. “It isn’t my area. They simply recognized my... _skills_ , gave me this body, and made me their trusty _guard dog_.” He spits the last two words like a curse.

“Interesting,” Ed mutters. “I’m sure they gave you a seal, too. To serve as a medium, between soul and armor?”

Slicer pauses before lifting a hand to the cloth covering where his mouth would be. “Yes,” he divulges, tugging the cloth away. “I have a blood seal.” He lifts up his faceplate, revealing the marking on the inside of his helmet. “This is it, right here. If you destroy this, the fight’s yours.”

You narrow your eye at him. “You must be either very considerate or very stupid, showing us your weak spot like that.”

“I like to give myself a little extra challenge during a fight now and then,” the man replies.

You smirk. “As long as you’re in such a giving mood, how about this: why don’t you just...let us go?”

Slicer does not look impressed as he lowers his faceplate again. “Nice try, kid, but what kind of mass murderer lets his prey get away so easily?” He takes up the hilt of his sword in both hands. “Now: let’s fight!”

You and Ed ready your weapons before charging at the man simultaneously. As Ed shoves the hollow man’s sword down, you swing your scythe at the chink in the armored leg where the knee would bend, hoping to slice it off, but he dodges, striking out at you with his blade. You block the attack and Ed goes on the offensive. He lashes out at the man but then checks the blow halfway there, stiffening his arm and ending the strike.

Slicer takes advantage of Ed’s odd non-attack, kicking you so hard in the chest that the air exits your lungs in a _whoosh_ , sending you sailing backward and crashing into a pillar. You hear something crack and a blinding pain flares up in your ribs.

Slicer swings his sword at Ed’s head. Again, the boy makes no move to defend himself, instead ducking backward under the attack. He flips backward with one hand, ducking and spinning to avoid the man’s blows.

Crouched on the ground, clutching your side with one arm, you struggle to breathe, while at the same time trying to avoid moving your torso, which burns with a fierce, blazing pain.

You notice how Ed is favoring his normal arm, and suddenly, Winry’s voice pipes up in your head.

... _I increased the percentage of chrome, so it’s less prone to rusting, but it’s not as strong, so don’t try anything crazy!..._

Great. So you have some broken ribs and some jammed automail against a nearly-invincible, animated suit of armor with a sword. Those are great odds; you’d totally bet on them any time.

You attempt to rise to your feet, only making it about halfway before your legs give out. Gritting your teeth, you watch Ed leap and spin. Blood spurts up from his flesh shoulder as he fails to dodge an attack.

As his back hits a wall, you struggle to rise again. You attempt to shut your mind off from the pain. Letting the adrenaline coursing through your body be your fuel, you stand up, grabbing your scythe and staggering forward. Using one arm, you thrust the blade toward the joint of the armored shoulder, but without the other hand as a base, your grip is wobbly at best. The attack lands, but without nearly enough force behind it to dismember.

Slicer turns away from Ed, who rolls away from the wall and dashes toward the armor. He jumps, aiming a kick at the helmet, but the man raises an arm to block him, lashing out at you with the other. He hits you hard in the face with the flat of his blade, and you go flying again.

You lift your head weakly to see Ed on the floor. Slicer plants his sword in the ground, resting his hands on top of the hilt. “What cute little monkeys,” he mocks.

Ed lurches forward. “WHO’RE YOU CALLING ‘LITTLE’?!” he demands furiously.

Slicer tips his head back and laughs. “Oh, it’s been too long since I’ve had prey worth hunting,” he declares, drawing his sword back out of the ground. “What a pity it is that you two won’t last much longer...Right about now, my partner should be finishing off the companion you left outside.”

Ed tenses. “This partner of yours,” he says carefully. “Is he strong?”

Slicer examines Ed closely, as if expecting a trick. “Yes,” he says finally. “He is. He isn’t as strong as I am, though.”

Ed starts laughing, and you worry that he hit his head a little too hard. Shoulders shaking, he hauls himself up off the ground. “In that case...” he says lightly, “I've got no need to worry!” He smirks at Slicer. “See, we’ve been sparring partners a long time, and I’ve _still_ never beaten him!”

The man tightens his grip on his sword. “Your brother is that good, is he?” he hums. “Then I’d like to hurry up and defeat you two, so I can go take care of _him_.”

The grin never leaves Ed’s face as his eyes cut sideways. Suddenly, he shouts, “ _Go_ , Alphonse! Do it now!”

Slicer’s head whips to the side. “What—?” He readies his sword for an oncoming attack.

Ed takes full advantage of his distraction, rushing at the armor with a roar. Too late, Slicer registers the trick, turning to slash at the boy even as Ed slices the head right off the rest of the hollow, armored body.

As the helmet flies through the air, Slicer’s disembodied voice rings out from it. “That was dirty!” he cries, indignant.

“There’s no such thing as ‘dirty’ in a fight!” Ed snarls.

The empty armor hits the ground with a _clang_ , the head falling several feet away. Grimacing, Ed claps his hand, transmuting his sword-arm back into regular automail. As he dashes over to your side to help you to your feet, slinging your arm around his shoulders, Slicer calls out to him, sounding almost like he’s pouting. “What’s the matter? You still haven’t destroyed the blood seal I so kindly pointed out. Are you going to or not?”

Ed leads you over to the helmet, letting you lean on him as he picks up the hollow metal head and holds it aloft, examining it balefully. “There’s something I need to ask you about first,” he says.

“The Philosopher's Stone?” Slicer guesses.

“Yes. Tell me everything you know about it.”

“Sorry,” Slicer says, though he is clearly not. “Can’t.”

Ed smirks. “Hey now,” he lilts warningly, “tell me! We _did_ beat you at your own game!”

Slicer’s eyes seem to darken. “That’s where you’re wrong,” he says lowly. “I’m not beaten yet.”

The only warning of the oncoming attack is a soft metal clinking sound behind you and Ed. Whirling around, breath leaving you in a whoosh as your rib screams in protest, you see the helmless body of Slicer’s armor at your back, sword drawn back for a blow. You don’t have time to question how this is possible. You fling yourself onto Ed and send him stumbling back, and Slicer gifts him with a simple gash across his side rather than a blade through his guts.

“Pesky girl,” Slicer growls from the helmet on the ground. “Always getting in the way.” The body draws back a foot that connects with your side hard. Blood dribbles out of the corner of your mouth as you go sliding across the ground, crashing into a pillar.

You feel something in your ribs snap again, on the same side, and you prepare for the blackout-worthy pain, but instead, you feel almost... _better_ , oddly enough. That’s not to say that it still doesn’t hurt like a bitch—because it does—but it’s bearable now. It’s as if his kick reset the bones in place.

“Now,” the head drawls from across the room. “I forgot to mention something about this mass-murderer Slicer.”

The armor raises one arm nonchalantly, and a different voice rings out from inside. “His crimes were _really_ committed by a pair of brothers!”

Ed grips his bleeding side and glowers at the armor. “An independent head and body?” he growls. “That’s a dirty trick!”

“Now, now,” Slicer chastens him. “Weren’t _you_ the one who said that there’s no such thing as dirty in a fight?”

“Are you ready?” the other voice taunts. “Round two is about to begin, short-stuff!”

“Don’t call me short!” Ed snarls, bringing his hands up to clap, but Slicer lunges forward faster than you can blink, swinging his sword with a wild yet deadly precision.

“I don’t think so!” he roars. “I’m not going to give you _time_ to transmute!”

Ed dodges the blow, but you can see him wobble. _He’s lost too much blood_ , you realize, taking in the thick red liquid that runs down his face, his arm, his body, his legs.

All of a sudden, Slicer swings his arms around, catching Ed hard with the flat of his blade, sending him crashing into you where you struggle to rise up from the floor. The impact of his body against yours is jarring, and your head cracks against the floor so hard that you see stars.

Nonetheless, you shove Ed off of you, shielding his body with your own as Slicer darts forward, sword held at the ready. You and him are both reeling, and you know you’re about to die.

You feel Ed wrap his arms around your waist from behind you, and he shouts your name.

Determination flares up in you, and you realize suddenly that, _fuck no,_ you’re not going to die. Because if you die, then who’s going to take care of this idiot behind you?

This will _not_ be a final embrace.

So you summon up all of the strength left in your limbs—strength you didn’t even know you still had—and, grimacing, you raise yourself up on your knees. Blood streams from your nose, dribbling a hot trail over your lips and down your chin, staining your black shirt even darker. You’re pretty sure that your legs will need stitches—every scab has been ripped wide open. More blood streams from a cut on your temple, dripping into your eye and making it hard to see. Struggling, you clap your hands to the ground, raising up a cloud of thick black dust. Concentrating hard, you send it whooshing toward Slicer, directing it straight into his armor and straight into the helmet on the floor, filling the space with the fog and blocking their vision. You consolidate it right at the body’s waist and set it to explode.

The particles shoot apart into every direction, and the force of it rips Slicer’s armor right in half. His torso falls one way and his legs fall the other. His sword clatters uselessly to the ground. You are careful to keep the dust still clustered inside the helmet, gathered closely right at the seal just in case he gets any funny ideas.

Breathing hard, you spin around, struggling to pull Ed’s jacket off of his shoulders and pushing up his shirt so you can see the wound on his side. It is short but deep, and blood pulses from it freely.

You bite your lip as you look up into Ed’s eyes. Their beautiful golden color is now dull and somewhat hazy, but he still manages a weak grin. “It’s bad, isn’t it?” he guesses, even as you shake your head vehemently and press his balled-up jacket over the wound to staunch the bleeding.

Both of you jump out of your skin as Slicer’s arms start flailing wildly from the floor. “How could you, you little brat?!” he screams.

“Quit wiggling!” you squeal, edging back while maintaining a steady pressure of Ed’s side. “It’s fucking creepy!”

“Brother!” the body calls out.

Slicer’s head is still sitting where Ed dropped it before. “As much as I hate to admit it,” he groans, “we’ve lost.”

Ed groans and grabs your wrist, attempting to pull you back, but you push down harder. “You’re not gonna tell us that you’re _three_ brothers, are you?” he growls.

“No, no,” the body groans. At the same time, Slicer lets out a sigh. “Come on, then,” he urges. “You’ve won. Now, destroy us.”

You scowl furiously. “No way!”

“Yeah,” Ed agrees. “We’re not murderers.”

Slicer’s tone sharpens. “With bodies like these, are we really even people?”

Ed’s gaze darkens. “We consider you people whether you have physical bodies or not,” he murmurs. “If we didn’t, that would mean that we didn’t consider our own brother a person, either.” He gazes at Slicer’s head, dull gold against glowing red. “I know my brother is a human being. That means that you guys are human, too. And we will _not_ take the life of another person.”

Much to your surprise, Slicer starts laughing. “My brother and I have been lying, stealing, cheating, and killing people together for as long as we can remember!” he muses. “And now that we’re in these pseudo-bodies, we’re being treated like people for the first time! Don’t you see the irony?” His eyes shine. “For that, lovebirds, I’ll give you a parting gift.”

You twitch at his use of the word _lovebirds_ , but remain silent, wanting to hear what he has to say.

“I’ll tell you everything,” he continues. You consider abandoning the smoky-equivalent of a finger pressed against his blood seal, but decide to keep it there, just in case. “I’ll tell you who made the Philosopher's Stone, and who instructed us to guard this place.”

Just as he starts to speak, though, you see long, shadowy fingers shoot from the darkness, toward you, Slicer, and Ed. You panic, pressing down harder against Slicer’s seal just as two of the fingers slip underneath the helmet.

They scoop the helm into the air, dragging it through the open space next to a woman who seemingly appeared out of nowhere. She has thick, wavy dark hair that cascades over her bare shoulders. Her thin lips are painted bright red, and her eyes are a cold, hard black. She wears a floor-length, figure-hugging dress that is an odd shade somewhere between black, red, and brown. It is strapless and very low-cut, drawing attention to her extremely generous... _assets_. She wears a pair of long gloves that match, and she has an odd tattoo on one side of her chest.

She lets out a sultry smirk and appraises the helmet in her hand. “Well,” she drawls huskily, “ _that_ was a close one! Number 48, you should know better than to talk about things that don’t concern you!”

Will a jolt, you realize that there is no response from the helmet—primarily because of the smudged blood seal.

Your blood runs cold as you realize that it might have been you who did that.

You may have killed a man today, despite all you ever said. And the worst part is that _you don’t even know_. It could have been you, but it could also have been this woman.

_But it could have been you_.

You’re shaking as another figure steps out from behind the woman. They are androgynous, with long, spiky black-green hair that tumbles out from under a black headband at their temple, a triangle etched in red on the fabric. Their muscles are well-defined, their face angular, and their eyes a light shade of purple. They wear a silk shirt that hugs them from their neck to the bottom of their ribs, leaving their arms and stomach bare. A skirt of sorts covers their bottom half, made of the same material, ending at about mid-thigh and revealing a pair of leggings underneath, only about an inch longer. Black wrappings cover their wrists and palms, as well as ankles and the middle of their feet, leaving fingers, toes, and heels free.

They put their hands on their hips. “Well, well, would you look at that!” they say, their voice giving no clues as to their gender. “What’s the Fullmetal Pipsqueak doing here? And is that Chibi- _chan_ I see?”

You’re too dazed to even care that they called you chibi. _I might have killed him. I think I killed him. I killed him. Oh god, please, no, I’m sorry! I—!_

“Such troublesome children,” the woman murmurs. “How did you find out about this place?”

Slicer’s body seems to realize that something is wrong. “Brother?” he calls. “Brother?! _Brother!!!_ ”

The woman sneers, dropping the lifeless helmet to the ground. Her fingers shoot out, extending unnaturally and sharpening into deadly points at the ends. She skewers the blood seal of the armor, still shrieking, lying on the ground. She purses her blood-red lips, pulling back and stabbing again. Then again. And again. “Silence your pathetic blubbering,” she sneers down at the armor. “You were trying to kill some of our most important sacrifices, and I’m afraid that this simply _cannot_ go unpunished. You nearly ruined our whole plan! And what would we have done then?”

Slicer does not respond.

You are shaking as the woman draws back her fingers, looking utterly unfazed by the fact that she just took someone’s life. You’re filled with so many emotions, too many emotions, all rattling around chaotically inside of you, bruising you, berating you. Guilt, rage, fear, dread, sadness, pain...when you combine that with a bleeding, battered, broken body, then it’s all but unbearable.

The two approach you and Ed where you sit crouched against the pillar. You can see that the androgynous one has the same tattoo as the woman, but instead of it being on their chest, it’s on their outer thigh.

You hear Ed’s ragged breathing behind you, and all you want to do is shut down and cry, because right now, it’s all too much. Too much pain and too little time, too much emotion in a too little body, and too much tension in too little space.

But you bite down on the inside of your cheek, so hard that you taste blood. You force your emotions down, down, down, until they shut off completely, leaving you hollow inside— _like Al_. You struggle to your feet, assuming a defensive position in front of the blonde boy on the ground. You grit your teeth, going on autopilot, because you need to stay strong for Ed. For him, if nothing else.

You eye them both carefully, the muscles in your back twitching with pain. “You’re going to tell me who you people are,” you growl, surprising yourself with how steady your voice is. “And what ‘plan’ are you talking about? Do you really think you're gonna _sacrifice_ us for _anything_?! ‘Cause I don’t fucking think so!”

The green-haired one leans down until they are only inches from your face. They smell like wind, pain, and something distinctly _male_ , which answers your question about his gender. His nostrils flare, and you feel oddly violated—did he really just _smell_ you?

His eyes are hard with an interested gleam as a smirk slides over his face. He sniffs you again, raising a single eyebrow as if trying to puzzle something out. He searches your one-eyed gaze intrusively; you can’t help but wonder what he sees.

“Well, well!” he remarks in his odd, rasping voice. “Looks like my Chibi’s got some spirit! All set up and raring to go.” His smirk deepens as he leans in even closer—way closer than you’re comfortable with. Still, though, you refuse to recoil. He’s testing you, and you know it. “She’s kind of cute, actually. Lust, can we keep her?”

Your lips pull back in a snarl. “I’m not _your_ anything,” you snap hotly. “And don’t fucking call me _Chibi_.”

The purple-eyed man leans closer still. His nose brushes yours, and his breath stirs your hair. If you tilted your chin up, you’d be kissing.

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong,” he says conspiratorially, his eyes narrowing in a challenge. “You _are_ mine.” He pauses. “ _Chibi_.”

Reflexively, your fist shoots out, and the man (boy? teen?) arches his back sharply, laughing, avoiding the blow. He takes a few steps backward to regain his balance. You remain where you are, standing protectively in front of Ed, fists clenched, gritting your teeth against pain and emotion at the same time. “Fucker!” you spit.

“That looked like it hurt,” the man says slyly, smirking. “Your legs, right? You should be more careful. You smell like blood—you must be pretty cut up down there, huh?”

Your breath freezes in your lungs as you think about all of the scars and cuts adorning your thighs. _He doesn’t mean...how could he possibly know about that?!_ you panic. You struggle to come up with a response, and Ed steps up next to you, placing a hand on your shoulder. “You leave her alone, you creep!” he demands. “Now, start talking!”

The man chuckles again. “Whoa now!” he purrs. “There’s no need to fight here!” He grins wolfishly. “Someone might get hurt, you know!”

The woman—Lust?—chuckles from where she stands behind the purple-eyed man. Ed’s eyes snap to her and darken with hatred. “This is a fight that _you_ started!” He lifts his hands to clap, but there is a sharp creak and then a loud _POP_ , and his automail arm hangs loosely at his side.

“Goddamn _technical difficulties!_ ” you swear under your breath. You raise your own hands, ready to transmute, but before they can connect, you’re being pushed against the stone pillar.

You let out a growl mixed in with a bark of pain, looking up to see Lust pressing her body against yours, keeping you in place. She smirks down at you, cupping your cheek tenderly with one hand. She presses her, ah... _assets_...more firmly into you, clearly reveling in the way you blush bright red.

You struggle to push her off of you even as her hand creeps slowly up the inside of your jean-clad thigh, but she is much, much stronger than she looks. “Such a troublesome child,” she purrs, pressing her pointed nail sharply against your cheek.

You eye her warily, disliking where her hand is headed. “Get off of me, you bitch!” you snarl.

Her finger digs into your face, drawing blood. It trickles down in a hot, thin line. She leans her face in close to yours, until you can feel her hot breath blowing on you softly. Her tongue snakes out, licking the blood from your cheek, and you cringe back, turning your head the other way.

Suddenly, she’s pulled back, and has you in the air by your throat. You grasp at her hands, reeling from her proximity and the sudden loss of air. You try to kick out at her, but she’s too far away.

Her eyes are cold and hard as she speaks. “Listen to me well, children,” she says in a low voice. You spot Ed collapsed on the floor, eyes closed, unmoving, and for a moment you panic, heart stopping dead in your chest. But then you see his eyelids flickering, and his lips pull back in a grimace. _He’s not dead_. “Never forget this,” Lust continues, still strangling you. “Always remember that we _allowed_ you to live.”

She lets you go, and you fall hard to the floor. You gasp for air, head spinning, gagging violently. Your vision blurs, and you try to call out for Ed, but your mouth feels like it’s stuffed with cotton.

Everything starts to go dark just as you hear Lust speak again. “We can’t have them poking around here again, now can we, Envy?” she says. _Envy?_ you wonder. You blearily realize that that must be the man’s name. “It’s too dangerous! It’ll have to go—blow it up.”

**...**

You’re in someone’s arms. They are cold, and it feels good against your battered body.

You want to open your eye and see who is carrying you, but, hard as you try, it stays shut.

You let out a soft sound and snuggle closer to the person, almost passing out again from the pain. Your nose bumps into their hard chest, and you turn, burying your face in it.

Their chest is cold too.

A calloused hand tucks your hair behind one ear, lingering on the side of your neck. Your consciousness slips away again, but you hear the person carrying you mutter, “You really are something else, Chibi- _chan_.”

**...**

You come to again as the person’s arms slip out from under you. The ground is hard, and you don’t understand why everything is shaking, but you don’t like it.

Weakly, you cling to the person’s shirt with a whimper. _Don’t leave_.

A cold hand brushes your cheek as you fade away again.

**...**

... _Chibi?_

**...**

By the time you realize who it is that's holding you, it's too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god you guys, I fucking love Envy _so fucking much_.


	10. Determination to be Whole Again

_“I still have too long a life ahead to get rid of these feelings, right? I want to try doing over the things I’ve left undone. I thought I was running after something carried over from my dreams, yet I’m stumbling into people on this narrow, winding road. It’s not like I want to go back to the way things were back then; I’m just searching for the sky I’ve been losing. Here’s hoping you’ll understand. Stop making that sad face as though you were a victim. Sins don’t end in tears; you have to carry the pain forever. Who am I waiting for in this maze of emotions with no way out in sight? I want to purge myself more simply, as if writing in a blank notebook. What is it I want to escape from? ...Is it reality? It makes me want to scream that we’re alive for things to come true. Can you hear me? I can’t put up with playing it safe. ...I’ve got nowhere to go home to! I’m always grateful for kindness; that’s why I want to grow stronger (I’m on the way). I even welcome this pain for the things I miss.”  
—Yui, Again_

**...**

“Looks like you can finally sit up now, huh?” Ross says cheerfully. She beams at you and Ed, but you both just glare at her, highly unamused.

“What happened with the Fifth Laboratory?” Ed asks blandly.

“Well...” Brosch hedges awkwardly. “It, um—”

“Somebody blew up building,” Ross inserts, embarrassed, “and now there’s nothing left of it but rubble?” She trails of at the end, raising her voice as if in question.

Ed facepalms aggressively, his eyebrow twitching as he comes into contact with the thick white bandage wrapped around his head.

Oh, that’s right. Did I forget to mention that you’re in the hospital?

Your bed is in the same room as Ed’s, thankfully. You two had to stay overnight getting patched up. Between the two of you, you had several deep lacerations, three broken ribs, a slight concussion, a fractured wrist, mild internal bleeding, and some malfunctioning automail.

“ _Damn it!_ ” Ed yells, kicking his legs in frustration. “You mean they wiped out _everything?!_ ” He suddenly lets out a wheeze and doubles over, clutching his side in pain. “That didn’t feel good,” he groans. He twitches again. “This isn’t fair!” he whines.

You tug at your papery hospital gown in discomfort. “Do you know how close we were to finding out the _truth?!_ ” you moan. “We’re wasting our time sitting here in the fucking _hospital!_ ”

Ross and Brosch exchange meaningful glances. Ross crosses the room to stand by your bed, and you look up at her suspiciously.

“We do apologize in advance for this!” both soldiers say simultaneously, standing stiff at attention. And you don’t even have time to flinch before Ross’ hand cracks across your cheek, leaving a sharp, stinging pain behind. Your head snaps to one side and you blink at the wall, beyond bewildered.

_What the fuck?!_

You open your mouth to speak, still staring at the wall, but Ross’ angry voice cuts you off. “You acted like selfish children!” she snaps hotly. “You only escaped with your lives because you were _lucky_.” You stare at her, single eye open wide as she cuts her gaze back and forth between you and Ed. Judging by the red mark on his face, he was given the same punishment.

Ross’ voice softens. “You don’t have to do everything by yourselves, you know; you can lean on other people.” Her shoulders slump slightly. “Like _us_. Not all adults are the enemy. You can _trust_ us.”

You hang your head in silent shame. Little do they know...

“That’s all!” the two shout suddenly and simultaneously, both standing stiff. “Please forgive our abusive words and conduct! It will not happen again!”

You struggle to find the right words, coming up short. You stare at your mismatched hands, limp in your lap, frustrated with your own silence.

You’re thankful when Ed starts to speak. “No,” he says hesitantly. “You’re right. _We_ should be apologizing.” You nod vigorously in agreement.

Ross still stands firm. “Our punishment?” she asks blandly. “For...slapping you?”

Ed looks up at her. “N-nothing!” he stammers.

You nod again, this time managing to control your tongue. “We had it coming, for sure,” you agree.

Both soldiers half-collapse with relief, and Ed sweat-drops in confusion. “Why are you two so scared of us?”

“State-certified alchemists carry a military rank equivalent to that of a Major,” Ross explains, leaning against the wall for support.

“Don’t worry about it!” Ed assures them. “We didn’t get our State certification so people would kiss up to us!”

“You don’t have to talk to us like we’re fancy military people,” you add. “Just...regular people.”

“Really?!” Ross asks, sounding like she almost can’t believe you’re serious. “Oh!”

Brosch chimes in, speaking mostly, it seems, to Ross. “I guess we were scared of the brats for nothing!”

You glare at the wall. _Well then! They adjust quickly!!_ you fume.

“Well, where’s Al?” Ed questions. “We haven’t seen him in a while.”

“Alphonse got his own lecture earlier,” Brosch explains. He holds up a swollen, pulsing red hand, looking chagrined. “But...his slapping hurt me more than him!”

Ed chuckles a little and then wheezes with pain. “I almost forgot!” he says, suddenly going pale. “I’ve got an even less pleasant lecture in store for me today!”

You laugh at him, though inside, you do pity him. _Hell hath no fury like a Rockbell scorned_. “Quit fucking up your automail, and you won’t have to keep dealing with this shit!” you tease the boy, who gifts you with a venomous glare in return.

**...**

Winry scares the crap out of you when she barges into the hospital room. “What happened?!” she exclaims, dropping her suitcase onto the floor with a loud _clang_.

You stare at her in the doorway. “How did you get here so fast?!” you wonder aloud. Then you hold up a hand. “Actually, no, wait. Don’t answer that. I doubt I even want to know.”

Ed lets out a pained, nervous chuckle. “You’re gonna charge me an express service fee now, aren’t you?”

Winry is silent for a long moment. She stares at wrapping over Ed’s stomach, over his head. She eyes your bound human wrist, at the large bandage over your face and on your legs. The blonde girl seems to almost shrink a little. “No,” she says sadly. “I-I won’t charge you for this; I didn’t do a good enough job on your automail last time.” She bows her head, hiding her eyes behind her hair. “...And now you’re badly injured,” she adds in a hushed tone.

Everybody stares at Ed, and he glances around, uncomfortable with the weight of seven eyes on him. “I-it’s not your fault!” he stammers, waving his human hand around in the air. “You can’t blame _yourself_ for this! I broke it because I was being reckless! Your repairs were flawless as ever! This is all _my_ fault!!” He adds a nervous, uncomfortable chuckle at the end.

A strange, unpleasant feeling swirls in your gut. It couldn’t be...?

_No_. You push the thought away, storing it deep in the recesses of your mind to be disposed of.

Ed is still waving his arm around like a madman. “Besides, if my arm hadn’t broken when it did, we would have kept fighting, and then we’d have gotten hurt even worse! So don’t worry about it, ‘kay?”

Winry slowly casts her eyes up. They began to sparkle, and then she dashes forward, squealing gleefully with her arms over her head. You fall backwards on your cot, confused and startled by her sudden change in mood. “Well then,” the girl says energetically; “let’s go ahead and get right down to business, shall we? I’ll have to charge you the usual rush-order fee, of course.” She suddenly casts her eyes sideways to the unopened bottle of milk on Ed’s nightstand. “You didn’t drink your milk,” she accuses.

Ed casts a dark glance over his shoulder. “Why should I?” he mumbles. “I hate it.”

Winry grips her hair dramatically in her hands. “YOU’RE GOING TO BE SMALL AND STUMPY FOREVER IF YOU KEEP USING _THAT_ STUPID EXCUSE!” she screams dramatically.

“SHUT UP!” Ed screams back vengefully. “I DON’T HAVE TO DRINK IT IF I DON’T WANT TO!”

Suddenly, Armstrong is shirtless and looming over Ed. “ **You sound like a spoiled little brat, Edward Elric!!!** ” he roars, flexing his bulging muscles.

“Every growing boy needs his milk,” Ross adds, and Brosch adds his agreement.

Meanwhile, you sit on your bed, wondering if you missed some sort of signal that said “everybody gang up on Ed for not drinking milk” in confusion. You notice Al peering in through the slightly-open door. Just as you’re about to call out to him, though, he steps back, letting the door shut loudly behind him.

The sound sends everybody into silence. Winry is pinching Ed’s cheek aggressively. “Was that Al?” he mutters, his voice coming out strange due to the stretching of his face.

**...**

“Okay, you’re all set!” Winry announces, running a rag over Ed’s repaired arm.

The boy sits up and moves the limb around to test it. “Well done!” he praises, rolling his shoulder. “It feels good to have it back! Thanks a lot!”

Winry dimples at him. “Sure, no problem!”

The door bursts open suddenly, and an overly-excited Maes is there. “Yo, Ed, my boy!!” he yells. “Is it true that you brought a pretty blonde girl into your room to service you?!”

Simultaneously, you and Ed topple off of your assigned cots. Ed scrambles upright, kneeling on the floor and glaring daggers at the older man. “She’s my automail mechanic!!” he hollers. “That’s all! Nothing more!”

“Oh, I see!” Maes says thoughtfully, hand on his chin. “You’ve seduced your mechanic, have you?”

Your face is almost as red as your hair. “ _Maes!_ ” you shout. “That’s not what he said _at all!_ Were you even _listening?!_ Winry is just—!”

Your cries seem to be ignored as Maes shakes Winry’s hand. “Maes Hughes,” he introduces himself. “I’m pleased to meet you, young lady!”

“Here too,” Winry says, seeming a bit...hesitant. “I’m Winry Rockbell.”

Ed slithers back onto his bed, but you’re quite content to remain on the floor, back pressed against the metal railing at the foot of your cot. “Nice to see you again, Hughes,” Ed says, “but...don’t you have work to do?”

Maes holds out a hand to stop him. “Nope,” he says cheerfully. “It’s all under control.” He lowers his voice conspiratorially. “I gave Sheska some _overtime_.”

You gaze at the man, your eye half-lidded in bemusement. “You’re a real jerk, aren’t you?” you say playfully.

“Yeah,” Maes agrees, “and I think you’ll be happy to know that I just found out that you and the boys shouldn’t need to be kept under guard for too much longer.”

Winry’s eyes widen. “What did you say?” she breathes, looking startled. Her eyes sharpen into a glare and she leans over you threateningly. “Hold on just a second!” she says shrilly. You cower slightly as she places her hands on her hips and deepens her glare. “How much trouble have you gotten yourselves into this time?!”

“Well, ah, so, um...yeah, well, you see...” You stammer, struggling to find an explanation and coming up short. You take a deep, steadying breath and coat your next words in a layer of ice. “It’s none of your business,” you say coldly.

She glares at you for another few moments as if daring you to crack, but you hold strong. She leans back. “Of course not,” she says, sounding offended. You have to try hard not to cringe. “I don’t even know why I bother. It’s not like you guys even _talk_ to me, anyway!” She grabs her toolbox off of the floor. “Fine,” she says dejectedly. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow. I have to go see if I can find some place to stay tonight.”

“Come on,” Maes says. “No need for that! Why don’t you spend the night at my place?”

“...Really?”

“Yes, of course! My wife and daughter will be _delighted_ to have you!” Winry begins to protest, but Maes cuts her off. “It’s settled!” he cheers. “Come on! Here, let me take that—!” He grabs her bag and then drags a very confused-looking Winry away by the collar of her shirt.

**...**

Ed casts a hateful glare at the milk on his tray. “So...” he snarls. “We meet again, you little bastard! I’m _not_ gonna drink you!”

“Brother...” Al’s voice is hollow—or, well...more so than usual. “You have a living body that needs nourishment. You have to drink it.”

Ed takes a large bite out of his dinner roll. “I don’t have to if I don’t want to!” he protests, sounding like a stubborn child. “I may not look it, but I _have_ grown some! But everyone still calls me a _pipsqueak!_ ” He glares at the wall. “I wish I was like _you_ , Al,” he blurts suddenly, causing you to jump.

Al stiffens and the door slowly opens. Winry peeks her head in the crack, but Ed keeps on talking, oblivious. “You’ve got such a big body now!”

“Ed...” you begin, but Alphonse cuts you off.

The armored boy jerks to his feet, the motion so sudden and violent that he sends his stool crashing into the wall behind him. “It’s not like I _asked_ for this body, _brother_!” he screams, causing everyone present to flinch.

Ed looks ashamed. “S-sorry,” he stammers. “You’re right. It’s _my_ fault that it happened. But I...I’ll make it right!” His voice begins to shake. “I’ll get you your body back, I _promise_! I—!”

“That’s what you _always_ say!” Alphonse retorts. “But you don’t know that for _sure!_ ”

You step in, trying to deescalate the situation before it gets too out of hand. “Look, Al,” you say, attempting a soothing tone, “I _promise_ that we’re going to get you back. I can’t promise _when_ , but _believe_ me, Al, we’ll do it!”

“ _Believe_ you?!” Al says the word like it is blasphemous. “How am I supposed to believe _anything_ when I’m stuck in this body?! What should I believe in, my _memories?_ _Memories_ are just scraps of information that can be made up as easily as anything else!”

Ed looks stricken. “W-what are you talking about?”

“Do you remember when you said there was something you were afraid to tell me?” Al demands. “I think...” His voice softens. “I think I might know what it was! _Maybe_ you wanted to say that my _soul_ and my _memories_ are really artificial constructions _you_ and _her_ _created!_ ” He pointed to you on the word _her_ , apparently too disgusted with you to even say your name.

His words hit you like a punch in the chest. No, harder. They hit you much, much harder.

Al stares at a shaking gauntlet. “The two of you...Winry...Granny...” he says shakily. “You’ve been lying to me all along, haven’t you? What do you have to _say_ for yourselves?!”

Ed’s hands slam down on his tray with a deafening _crash_ , and a sudden hush falls over the room. His voice comes out in a whispered, broken hush. “Is that what you _really_ think?” he breathes, his quiet tone barely masking his rage. “Is that what you’ve believed all this time?” He’s shaking, his back bent in a taut arc, fists clenched so tight that the knuckles on his flesh hand are white. “Are you finished? Or is there more that you wanted to say?”

There is a long silence. You bring your legs up to your chest and rest your forehead on one knee, fighting against your own sharp tongue, which is begging to be let loose on the younger boy you see as your brother. You wrap your arms around yourself, dragging your nails down savagely against your thigh. You feel stitching rip open and blood starts to flow sluggishly, kept from sight by the tightly-wrapped bandages.

Finally, Ed pushes his tray away slightly. “Okay,” he says, still hushed, but in an unreadable tone. He rises to his feet and walks slowly and seemingly-calmly out the door. Just as he turns the corner, Winry breaks the silence.

“Don’t go!” she begins. When the boy gives no response but to keep walking, she leans out the doorway. “Ed—!”

You grab her arm tightly in a cold metal grip, causing her to jump. She hadn’t heard you cross the room, it seems. “Leave it,” you growl lowly.

Shooting a parting, venomous glare at the suit of armor that had fallen silent at the blonde boy’s outburst, you stalk out of the room, slamming the door shut behind you.

**...**

You find Ed on the roof. His back is to you, arms folded over the railing that lines the edge. His blonde ponytail waves in the wind.

You pad over to him, your bare feet scuffing against the concrete flooring, and stop when you’re a few feet away. “I’m sorry,” you say uselessly.

Silence.

“He doesn’t mean it,” you continue, trying to convince yourself as well as him. “Something must have happened that made him...” You trail off as Ed turns around, lifting his face slowly and letting you see the tears pooling in his eyes. You feel your heart shatter at his fragility in this moment, tears of your own stinging your lonely orb. “Oh, Ed,” you whisper, padding the rest of the way over to him and pulling him into your arms.

He falls gladly into you, wrapping his arms around your neck and pressing his face into your shoulder. You hold him tightly, not speaking. You know he doesn’t want to admit that he needs this right now, that it makes him feel weak to need the support.

So you stay silent, holding him without acknowledging his vulnerability.

You wish he would just acknowledge though, that he doesn’t _need_ to be strong all of the time. Even now, his shoulders don’t shake with sobs. He clings to you, but he doesn’t cry—not really—his breathing irregular as he struggles to calm himself. _It’s okay to need help sometimes, Ed..._

And the thought almost makes you laugh, because you realize that you sound like the world’s biggest hypocrite in that moment.

After a few moments, he draws back, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand and leaning over the railing again. You join him, admiring the high view over Central.

After a few minutes, you hear Al come up the stairs. He pauses at the doorway, and you feel the muscles in your back tense.

“Hey, I—” he begins, but Ed interrupts him.

“You know what, Al?” he says. “We haven’t had a good fight in a while! I’m starting to get flabby.”

“Huh?”

Ed kicks off his slippers, doing an about-face and then running at Al in a sprint. He lashes out at the armored boy in a roundhouse-kick.

“Hey!”

Ed lashes out again.

“Brother, _stop!_ ”

Ed does not stop, and, after a moment, you decide to join him.

The two of you tag-team the armored boy, eventually managing to pull a bed sheet off of one of the nearby clothes lines, throwing it over the boy and sending him toppling over.

Ed stands over the fallen armor in glory. “We beat you!” he gloats. “The first time we’ve ever beat you.”

He joins you and Al on the ground, all of you spread out on your backs, staring up at the clouds.

“It wasn’t a fair fight, you know,” Al comments blandly.

“Don’t give us that shit,” you retort. “A win is a win and you know it!”

“We’ve always fought like this,” Ed remarks. “Ever since all of us were real little.”

“Definitely,” Al agrees. “Like who would get which bunk.”

“Yeah...”

“We fought over candy a lot, too.”

“Do you remember the time we broke Trisha’s favorite lamp when we were fighting for that last cookie?”

“Mom was _so mad_ at us...!”

“And that fight we had during our training!”

“Teacher said we were being too loud, and then she beat us up herself!”

“I’m _still_ sore from that one!”

“Why don’t we call that one a draw?”

You roll over suddenly, propping yourself up on your elbows. “Do you remember when the two of you fought over who would get to marry Winry one day?!”

“Whaaaat?” Ed says. “I don’t remember that one!”

“ _I_ won that one!” Al says proudly. “But she shot me down...”

You laugh. “Yeah! She said that if she was gonna marry any one of us, it was gonna be _me!_ ”

There is a brief pause, and then Ed speaks. “You’re telling me that all of those memories are lies?”

Al sounds ashamed. “I’m sorry.”

“And your determination to be whole again, to get your body back, no matter what...” Ed shifts slightly. “That’s a lie, too?”

“No,” Al says firmly. “It’s not a lie.”

“That’s right,” you say, flexing your metal fist. “We’re in this together, right? The three of us against the world. Don’t forget that, and...we’re gonna keep on going. Nothing is gonna stop us. Not even...us. We’ll make ourselves stronger, faster, smarter, and we’ll keep on pushing until we get our bodies back! Whatever it takes.” You hold out your metal fist, and Ed stacks his own automail on top of yours, while Al comes out beneath.

“ _Together!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **...Okay, I'm not going to lie; this one is kinda "meh". There are parts of it that I'm really happy with, and other parts are...not so much. But: this episode was pretty much just filler anyway, so it's not that big of a deal (fortunately!).**


	11. Come Home Early Today

_“I still have too long a life ahead to get rid of these feelings, right? I want to try doing over the things I’ve left undone. I thought I was running after something carried over from my dreams, yet I’m stumbling into people on this narrow, winding road. It’s not like I want to go back to the way things were back then; I’m just searching for the sky I’ve been losing. Here’s hoping you’ll understand. Stop making that sad face as though you were a victim. Sins don’t end in tears; you have to carry the pain forever. Who am I waiting for in this maze of emotions with no way out in sight? I want to purge myself more simply, as if writing in a blank notebook. What is it I want to escape from? ...Is it reality? It makes me want to scream that we’re alive for things to come true. Can you hear me? I can’t put up with playing it safe. ...I’ve got nowhere to go home to! I’m always grateful for kindness; that’s why I want to grow stronger (I’m on the way). I even welcome this pain for the things I miss.”  
—Yui, Again_

...

“Well,” Ed says hesitantly, holding up a crude drawing of Envy, the man from the Fifth Laboratory. “The last thing I remember was this guy kickin’ me.”

Armstrong and Maes scratch their chins thoughtfully, examining the sketch. “It’s odd that he let you live,” the Major remarks lowly. “And what about the ‘sacrifice’ and these other armored souls?”

“Not to mention the ouroboros tattoos and the transmutation circle,” Maes adds, peering over at a pile of other sketched-out images of the inside of the Fifth Laboratory. “And Doctor Marcoh claims that they were using the Philosopher's Stones in Ishval...”

“Every clue we have to work with seems to lead to its own mystery.”

Maes nods grimly. “Nothing we can do about that, though. Any answers we might have found are under a ton of rubble back in the Lab.” He holds up the drawing of the tattoo that the strange people had both shared. “I’ll run a search and see if I can find priors on anybody with an ouroboros tattoo.”

“Very good,” the Major agrees, taking the paper from the smaller man. “And while you do that, I’ll continue looking into the research team that was working with Doctor Marcoh in Ishval.”

Before their conversation can continue, there is a knock at the door. All of you turn to look at the door. Much to your surprise, it swings open to reveal Führer King Bradley himself. “Sorry to interrupt,” he says cheerfully.

All of you stare at the man in shock. Hastily, Maes and Armstrong raise an arm to salute him. “Führer Bradley!” the Major stammers; “Your Excellency!”

Bradley raises a hand and smiles. “Calm down, gentlemen,” he says calmly. “This is just an informal visit.”

“Yes, sir,” Maes says, bowing slightly at the waist as the Führer walks over to the hospital cot that you and Ed are currently sharing. “But if I may ask the occasion?” he continues.

“These young folks,” the Führer says, staring intently into first your eye, and then into Ed’s. “You two are injured. I thought a nice melon might cheer you up.” Bradley holds up a woven basket with a pink ribbon around the handle, a large, ripe green melon in the cradle.

The Führer hands the basket to Ed, who accepts it hesitantly. You both blink at the melon, slightly confused. “I guess...?” Ed says doubtfully. You elbow him hard in the ribs, and then he stiffens quickly, remembering to whom it is that he is talking. “Thank you, Sir!!” he shouts.

Bradley examines the two of you for a moment before he speaks again. “I understand that you have been checking up on some of the senior staff,” he says. “Is this true, Major Armstrong?”

Behind him, the large man looks perplexed. “Yes, Sir,” he replies haltingly. “But, uh...how did you know I was—?”

Bradley cuts him off. “You should know that nothing gets past me, Major,” he says lowly. He turns his gaze back to you and Ed. “And now you, my Smokebomb and Fullmetal Alchemists.” His lone, blue-green eye scrutinizes you viciously as his voice lowers an octave. “Tell me what you know about the Philosopher's Stone. And I hope for your sake that you don’t know too much.”

He pins you down with his gaze as you and Ed sweat nervously. You are half convinced that you’re seriously about to die, right here, right now. The silence is drawn out for far too long before the Führer begins to chuckle. Then the chuckle deepens into a laugh and everybody in the room just stares silently at the man.

“I’m only kidding!” Führer Bradley laughs, placing a hand on your shoulder. “There’s no reason to be so uptight.”

You gape up at him like a fish. “Hah...?”

“I know that there’s been some suspicious activity within the military lately,” the man says more seriously, removing his hand; “and I believe that it’s necessary for something to be done about it.” He turns to the nightstand and picks up the pile of papers, flipping through them lazily.

“Oh!” Armstrong stammers. “Those are just, ah...”

“A list of the research team assigned to study the Philosopher's Stone,” Bradley finishes the Major’s sentence for him. “Every person listed in this document has been reported missing. They all vanished several days before the Fifth Laboratory collapsed.” His tone is not as grim as one might expect, given what he’s discussing. “It seems the enemy is always one step ahead of us. Even with my vast network of informants, I have no way to determine how far in our ranks they have infiltrated. The most we know about them is that they know a _lot_ about us.”

Maes straightens slightly. “In that case,” he says, “this is proving much more dangerous than we imagined.”

The Führer hums in agreement as he sets the papers back down on the nightstand. “Major Armstrong,” he says, turning to look up at the man. “Lieutenant Colonel Hughes...” He turns again to face him. “Elric brothers and Echo Slade; you’ve all proven yourselves to be men and women of a trustworthy character. From this point forward, I’m giving you the direct order to forget this matter and all that it concerns.” The lines in his face look like they’ve been carved from stone. “At this time, suspicion is our strongest line of offense, and our only form of defense is discretion.” He pauses to add emphasis on his next words. “ _Do not trust anyone._ Keep this to yourselves at all costs. However...” A smile splits the man’s face. “When I deem the time is right to confront the enemy, I expect you to be prepared to join me in the effort.”

Immediately, Maes and Armstrong salute. “Sir!”

From outside the door, you can hear a man shouting. “Where is he? Has Führer Bradley been through here?”

Instantly, the Führer offers a salute of his own. “Gotta go!” he says cheerfully, striding over to one of the large windows that line the walls. “Damn bodyguard thinks he’s my shadow,” he mutters. He casts open the window and begins to climb out. He pauses and glances over his shoulder at all of you, probably feeling the weight of all of your eyes on his back. “See, I’ve snuck away to have a few moments of privacy,” he explains, still perched half-in, half-out of the window. “Well, farewell for now!” He lifts a hand in goodbye and then jumps out the window, walking away calmly.

The door opens behind you and Winry’s voice calls out. “Hey Ed—!” She stops at the sight of five people gathered around a window, staring out of it like they’ve seen a ghost. “What’s going on? Did I miss something?”

“No,” Ed says dully. “Not really. Just a tornado passing by.”

You hold up the basket. “Melon?” you offer.

She shakes her head in decline and slowly closes the door behind her, still seeming confused. “Well, I don’t think there’s anything I can do about _that_ ,” she says, “but I _did_ buy those train tickets you asked for.” She holds up the tickets.

“Thanks!” Ed says. “Just in time!”

Armstrong leans over him. “You sure are a man on the move,” he accuses. “Your wounds haven’t even healed completely!”

You scoff, biting at a thumbnail. “We’ll be fine. After two days of sitting in this cesspool of sick people and shitty food, I think we’ll probably be better off getting out of here, actually.”

Maes peers at the tickets over Winry’s shoulder. “And where are you heading off to this time?” He squints to read the words written on the small papers. “What’s in Dublith?”

“Well,” Ed says with a smirk, putting a hand on Al’s armored back, “with the way things have gone lately, the three of us decided we should go back and see our old Teacher!” He turns to Al, who began shivering as soon as he said the word _Teacher_.

“I think I’m too scared, Brother!” Al gushes.

His words are like a bomb that sets the three of you off. You huddle together in the middle of the room, a shaking, sweaty mess. “There’s no way she’s not gonna kill us!”

“Don’t you chicken out on me now! I’m scared too!”

Winry sweat-drops. “What does this woman teach, exactly?”

Armstrong rubs his chin thoughtfully. “It appears you have a rather lengthy journey ahead of you,” he muses.

“How far _is_ Dublith?” Winry questions.

“Well...” Al points at a map on the wall, indicating an place in the northern part of the South Area. “Here it is, all the way down here!”

Winry looks at the map for a moment before her eyes widen and she begins to shriek.

You stare at the girl in shock at her sudden, random outburst. “Winry, what the fuck?!”

She points at a spot on the map slightly north of Dublith. “That!” she squeals. “Right there! Right before Dublith!!” She begins to swoon dramatically. “It’s the holy land of automail engineering!! _It’s Rush Valley!!!”_ Her voice reaches a dangerously high pitch. She stands in front of you and Ed and waves her arms wildly, eyes shining like stars. “ _We have to go!!”_ she squeals. “ _We have to go! We have to go! You have to take me!!”_

“Yeah, whatever,” Ed says, clearly not impressed. “We don’t have to take you anywhere.”

Winry leans over him menacingly, instantly more serious. “Well _somebody_ has to pay for my travel fare!”

“Well, why does it have to be _me?!_ ”

“Come on, Brother,” Al says. “What’s the big deal? It’s on our way!”

“Yeah, Ed,” you agree. “Quit being a jackass. Of course Winry can come.”

The girl screams in joy and spins around on her toe, arms thrown in the air. She dashes to the door, beaming. Before she runs out of the room, she glances over her shoulder. “I’ve got to tell Grandma!” She dashes out, leaving everybody blinking behind her.

After a long moment of silence, Maes puts his hand on Ed’s shoulder. “She’ll make you a fine wife someday,” he says gravelly, causing you to stiffen.

Ed prickles. “Don’t you start that again!” he hisses in warning.

Did Maes cut his eyes sideways to look at _you_ when he said that? Or are you just imagining things?

“I'd rather talk about _my_ wife, anyway!” the man gushes, causing you to go pale.

**...**

_(Outside POV)_

“It’s time for bye-byes!” Hughes squeals, bending over to face his daughter. “Daddy’s gotta go to work now!”

“Daddy!” Elicia squeals back, clasping her hands together gleefully. “Come home early today, okay?”

“Hmm. Well, I can try, but Daddy has a bunch of important work that needs to be done!” He leans over and squishes the young girl’s cheeks. “But I promise I’ll do it as fast as possible!”

Gracia smiles down at her husband. “Don’t be late, now!”

Hughes straightens up and dusts off his pants. “Well, Miss Rockbell,” he says, “I probably won't see you again before your train leaves, but it’s been fun. Oh, and tell the others I said ‘bye’.”

Winry nods her agreement. “Thanks, Mr. Hughes,” she says honestly. She dips into a bow, her blonde ponytail bouncing behind her. “I really appreciate your hospitality.”

Hughes smiles. “You just make sure to come visit us any time you’re in Central, okay? Our home is your home, too. Until then, take care of yourself!”

He begins walking away, and Elicia calls out after him. “Bye, Daddy! Work hard! Bye-bye!”

“You be safe out there!” Gracia says.

Hughes waves over his shoulder without looking back.

**...**

_(Second Person POV)_

“So why is it suddenly so important that you guys go see your Teacher?” Winry questions.

“Well, there are a couple of reasons,” Ed says, watching the sun set out of the train window.

“The biggest one being that we’re sick of getting our asses kicked,” you insert, smirking slightly.

“Wait!” Winry says. “Is this some kind of _combat_ Teacher?!” She huffs. “Why don’t you just quit fighting?”

“Well _that’d_ be nice!” Ed snaps, “but it’s not as easy as that, okay?” He takes a breath. “This isn’t only about our fighting. Our core needs a little work, too. Right, Al?”

The armored boy nods. “Exactly,” he agrees. “We feel like seeing our Teacher will make us grow and make us stronger on the inside.”

“Yeah, and we’re gonna need as much strength as we can get,” Ed continues, turning his gaze back out the window.

Winry is quiet for a moment as she glances around at the three of you. Then she grins. “What’s reason two?”

Ed’s eyes remain fixed hard on the setting sun. “To see what she can tell us about the Philosopher's Stone.”

“And to ask her about the truth within the truth,” Al adds. “We haven’t gotten any closer to figuring it out. There’s a chance our Teacher knows something about it.”

“Let’s just hope she doesn’t kill us before we get a chance to ask her!” you say, vocalizing a legitimate concern. “Al, you should really be more worried about explaining your new look to her. Because...” Your heart lurches into your throat. “Because...”

The three of you go pale. “She’s gonna kill us when she finds out what happened!”

“It would have been nice to at least have had a girlfriend before I died!” Al mourns.

Winry sweat-drops. “...You guys should get a new teacher.”

...

_(Outside POV)_

Mustang’s phone rings loudly, shattering the silence of his late-night attempt at paperwork. He picks up the receiver and holds it to his ear.

The operator’s voice sounds from the other line. “There is a Lieutenant Colonel Hughes on hold for you; he claims it urgent.”

“Of course he does,” Roy sighs. He rolls his eyes before continuing reluctantly. “Put him through.”

There is a click, and Roy begins speaking before his friend can get in a word. “Look, Hughes, I don’t have time for daughter stories!” he says.

Silence.

A few strands of unease begin to flick through the Colonel. “Hey, Hughes,” he prompts.

No response.

“Hughes!” Mustang’s voice is getting louder and his misgivings are growing stronger. “Are you okay? Hughes!”

 _Click_.

Roy stares at the receiver in his hand for a long, long moment before slowly setting it back to rest on its cradle.

**...**

_(Second Person POV)_

“Oh, _man!_ ” Ed moans around a mouth full of food. “This is the best apple pie _ever!_ ”

“Isn't it, though?” Winry says. “Mrs. Hughes is an _excellent_ cook!”

You nod fervently. “ _I’ll_ say! Did she make you quiche while you were there? Her quiche is _heaven-sent_.”

“Yeah,” Al chuckles, holding a small black book. “I actually wrote the quiche on a list of things I’m gonna eat when I have a mouth again!”

“Well, she gave me the recipe,” Winry says. “So when you’re back to normal, Al, I'll make it for you.”

“Awesome!!” Al cheers, spreading his arms gleefully. “ _Thanks!_ ”

Winry beams. “I had such a good time staying with them,” she says contentedly. “They’re both really great people.”

“Yeah, but Hughes is obnoxious,” Ed remarks, pursing his lips. “He doesn’t know when to shut up, and he spoils his daughter rotten.” He opens his mouth to take another bite of pie, but before it can reach his mouth, you snatch it out of his hand, an offended look on your face. “Echo, w-what’re you doing? Gimme back my pie!”

You scoff at him. “How about ‘no’,” you retort, holding the treat hostage. “Why would you say stuff like that about Mister Hughes? He’s a great guy! You think you’re just gonna insult him like that and then eat his wife’s cooking? I think not!” You take a bite of the pie yourself, maintaining direct eye-contact the whole time.

He glares at you darkly as you finish the treat off, crumpling up the napkin and then throwing it at him. He swats it back at you, still glaring.

“I have to agree with Echo on this one,” Al says. “He did come and see you two and awful lot in the hospital!”

“Mhmm,” you respond. “Every damn day! He always made it a point to come and keep us company, even if he had to blow off work to do it.”

Ed scowls. “Alright, alright, fine! He wasn’t such a bad guy,” he grumbles, feigning anger but smiling a little, ruining the whole illusion.

“We should try and find some way to thank him next time we’re there!” Al suggests.

“Yeah, we should,” Ed agrees.

**...**

_(Outside POV)_

The day of Maes Hughes’ funeral is insultingly beautiful. It is sunny and warm, with a light breeze that just barely rustles the verdant green leaves of the trees surrounding the graveyard.

All of those attending watch somberly as Hughes’ casket is lowered into the freshly-dug grave. Clinging to her mother’s leg, Elicia Hughes sniffles as she watches the men begin to shovel dirt onto her Daddy’s box. This alarms her.

_If they cover Daddy with all that dirt, how is he going to get out again?_

So she tugs on her mother’s skirt. “Mommy?” she whimpers. “Why are they putting all that dirt on Daddy?”

Gracia’s voice shakes as she responds. “They’re burying him, dear.”

Elicia doesn’t understand. “But if Daddy gets buried, then he won't be able to do all his work!” she protests.

Gracia’s throat constricts as she kneels down and scoops her daughter into her arms. “Elicia—” She chokes back a sob.

“Daddy said he has a bunch of work he needs to do!” Elicia shouts, waving her arms, demanding to be heard. What she is saying makes sense, doesn’t it? Daddy needs to work! Why would they put him in a box and bury him? Didn’t the men throwing dirt on his box understand? She kept talking, hoping that something she said would make them stop, and they would let Daddy out. “No!” she shouts at them. “Stop! Stop it! Stop putting dirt on him!” Tears begin to well up in her eyes as the men just keep shoveling. “Daddy—!” she cries, reaching out for him.

**...**

Later that same day, after everyone had gone home—even Gracia and Elicia, who’d stayed for hours to help clean up—Roy Mustang stands in front of his best friend’s grave.

“Promoted to Brigadier General,” he mutters, watching the shadow he casts over the freshly-turned dirt. “Just for dying in the line of duty.” He takes a breath. “You were supposed to be helping me work my way up the ranks,” he accuses dully. “You’ve got it all backwards.” His next words are no louder than a whisper: “You damned crazy fool.”

“Colonel.” Riza’s familiar voice sounds behind him. He waits for her to say more, but she just walks over to his side quietly.

Roy turns his gaze back to the grave. “Alchemists, as a whole,” he murmurs. “We really are horrible creatures, aren’t we?” He stares at the daisy wreath resting on the stone slab. “There’s a side of me that’s desperately trying to crack the theories of Human Transmutation right now.” He pauses for a moment to check his breathing. “I think I finally understand what drove those kids when they tried to...bring back their mother.”

He feels Riza’s eyes on him, but that’s okay. He knows that she doesn’t judge him. “Are you alright, Colonel?”

Roy puts on his cap. “Yeah; I’m fine,” he lies. “Except, it’s a terrible day for rain.”

Riza blinks in surprise and looks up at the sky. “W-what do you mean?” she murmurs. “It’s not raining.” She turns her eyes back to the Colonel.

Roy tips his head up to the sky and lowers his cap so that it almost covers his eyes. “Yes,” he chokes out, a tear running down his cheek. “It is.”

“Oh.” Riza says quietly, nodding slightly. “So it is.”


	12. Now I've Gone and Made You Cry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet you guys thought this story was dead, huh?  
> :^)

_“I still have too long a life ahead to get rid of these feelings, right? I want to try doing over the things I’ve left undone. I thought I was running after something carried over from my dreams, yet I’m stumbling into people on this narrow, winding road. It’s not like I want to go back to the way things were back then; I’m just searching for the sky I’ve been losing. Here’s hoping you’ll understand. Stop making that sad face as though you were a victim. Sins don’t end in tears; you have to carry the pain forever. Who am I waiting for in this maze of emotions with no way out in sight? I want to purge myself more simply, as if writing in a blank notebook. What is it I want to escape from? ...Is it reality? It makes me want to scream that we’re alive for things to come true. Can you hear me? I can’t put up with playing it safe. ...I’ve got nowhere to go home to! I’m always grateful for kindness; that’s why I want to grow stronger (I’m on the way). I even welcome this pain for the things I miss.”_  
—Yui, Again

“ _Rush Valleyyyyyyy!!”_ Winry shrieks joyfully, gazing wondrously around at everything there is to see. “Automail,” she coos. “Automail! _Automail!!_ ” She jumps up and down, ecstatic. “I’m so happy!!” She gasps dramatically, pointing at something in a display case in one of the shop’s windows. “Look! It’s the most recent God’s model!!”

“Welcome to the holy land of automail,” Al says. “This place is bustling!”

Ed groans. “Remind me again why we let ourselves get dragged out in this heat to look at a bunch of _automail?_ ” he complains. “We should’ve dropped Winry off at the station and kept going straight to Dublith.”

“Hey, kid!” a man’s voice calls from behind you. “Come back for a sec!” You glance over your shoulder to see who was calling, and then, before you know it, there’s a crowd surrounding you. One man is holding your left arm, examining it curiously, while the onlookers murmur to each other. “I’ve never seen an automail model quite like _this_ before!”

“It really _is_ unusual,” another man comments. “Everybody, take a look!”

The crowd swarms around you, bustling you so much that you may as well be in a mosh pit. Quite a few pairs of hands tug on your clothes, which you hastily swat away.

After what feels like an eternity, you finally manage to escape the hungry crowd, dragging yourself free from the clustered mass of gross, sweaty bodies. “Fucking hell,” you grumble irately, fixing your shirt and pushing your hair out of your eyes. “This is why I keep away from gearheads!”

You’re working on straightening your belt when you hear Ed let out a groan. You look over to see him turning his pockets inside-out. “No, no, no, no, no!” he chants. “It’s _gone!?_ ”

“...What did you lose?”

“My pocket watch!” he moans, still desperately searching his pockets. “It’s the only thing that proves I’m a State Alchemist!!”

“Ah,” chimes in a man’s voice to your right. “It sounds like you guys had a run-in with Paninya!”

The four of you pause your panicking. “...Paninya?”

“A pickpocket around here who likes to target tourists,” the man explains.

Ed rushes over to the man and grab onto his shirtfront. “Where is this ‘Paninya’ girl? Do you know how I can find her? She took something _very_ important!!”

The man puts his hand to his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm,” he muses to the man next to him; “Where is she again?”

The other man repeats the former’s gesture. “Ah, _I_ know what might jog my memory...” he says suggestively. You’re sure he’s about to ask for money, but then he turns around with a wrench in his hand and squeals something about taking a better look at his automail.

Before the men can get any closer with their greasy hands, Ed shoots them a death glare and bares his teeth with a growl. Paling, they both spin around and point to the direction in front of them. “The automail shop run by an engineer named Dominic!” they squeal.

...

The sun blares down on you, causing sweat to bead up on your forehead. Wiping it away with the back of your hand, you continue to trudge through the stony canyon.

“Apparently,” Winry says, “this guy lives deep in the mountains because he can find the highest quality ore way out here.” She wipes her face with the edge of her shirt. “Are you absolutely sure we’re going in the right direction?” she asks dismally. “'Cause those engineers could’ve tricked us...”

“What’re you complaining about?” Ed groans. “This is all your fault for dragging us to this stupid automail town in the first place!”

“My fault?!” Winry shrieks, outraged. “You’re the one who was careless enough to let his watch get stolen!!”

“Hey, I’m not the one who—!”

Al interrupts before a full-blown argument breaks out. “Um, hey guys?” he starts. “Could that be her?” He points to a rickety-looking wooden bridge on the other side of the canyon wall. Squinting, you can make out a dark-skinned girl scurrying across.

She stops near the middle of the bridge, and turns in your direction. A flash of sunlight reflects off something in her hand.

Ed’s watch!

“Hey, you little thief!” Ed screams at her. “That’s my watch!” Clapping his hands, Ed makes himself a series a rocky platforms and starts sprinting after her. Scrambling, you, Al, and Winry rush to follow him.

Panicking slightly, the girl turns and starts running for the other end of the bridge. Once she’s across, she glances back, still running.

Ed claps, raising a huge wall in front of the girl, blocking her path. Looking up, he glares at the girl. “I’d like my watch back.”

The girl—Paninya, presumably—sits up. “That was awesome!” she says, dusting off her baggy camo-print cargo pants. “How’d you do that, mister?”

Glaring, Ed clapped his hands to the ground again. “I’m an alchemist. Are you going to give me my watch back, or do I need to take it from you?”

Sparks crackling, Ed summons several large, earthen hands, trying to snatch the surprisingly agile girl. She laughs, dodging around. “What’s the matter?” she teases. “Can’t catch a little girl?”

She sticks her tongue out at him before jumping over a rocky ledge and running away.

Ed runs to follow her, only to see Al forming a solid metal cage around Paninya.

“Nicely done, Al,” Winry praises, standing next to the armored boy.

“Enough games,” he snaps, walking over to the trapped girl. “Give me back my wa—!” Before Ed can finish his sentence, he is cut off by a sudden slash from Paninya, sending the severed metal bars flying at him.

Looking at the girl, you’re shocked to see the leg of the thief’s pants torn, an automail leg with a blade above the knee shimmering in the hot sun. “Come on,” Paninya smirks, “you can’t be too surprised! You’ve seen the town, haven't you?” She lowers her leg. Then, with a devious glint in her eyes, she lifts the other, facing her knee toward Ed. “Oh, and...!” A short, yellow flash is all the warning you get. Flinging himself to the floor, a cannonball flies over his head, crashing into the rock wall behind him. Black smoke billows around as the girl laughs. “My other leg’s got a one-point-five inch cannon; what do you think of that?” With a wink, she pivots, running away.

You and Ed both start after her. “Get back here, you little—!”

“No way!” she teases. “Why don’t we see if you can catch me?”

Suddenly, Winry has the girl’s wrist in an iron grip. Twisting, she spins the girl to face her, wincing in pain.

“Well now,” Winry smirks, “how do ya like that? That wasn’t so hard.”

“Nice one, Winry,” Ed shouts, running after the two with the you and Al on his heels. “Don’t let her get away!”

She tightens her grip on the Paninya’s wrist, causing the pickpocket to flinch. “No way am I letting her go,” she says. Her eyes turn sparkly. “Not yet, anyway!” she sings. “Not until I’ve had a closer look at that automail!”

Suddenly, the front door of a nearby house opens. “Oh, hello there Paninya,” says the woman in the doorway. She shoots a glance at Winry, who is literally jumping up and down with excitement, still holding the girl’s wrist. “Friend of yours?” she asks.

Paninya chuckles. “Not really...!”

...

Winry shrieks excitedly, examining Paninya’s automail legs inside the woman's home. Her name was Satera, and she lived there with her husband Ridel. “I’ve never seen craftsmanship like this before! It has an advanced suspension and would you look at this balance!!” she rambles. “The design of this piece is truly a work of art! It’s incredible!!!”

As she continues to drool over the girl, Ed grumbles from his seat on the couch. “Can I have my watch back yet?” he says flatly.

“It’s pointless, Ed,” you say, seated beside him. “You’re not getting it back until Winry is done being a nutcase.”

Said nutcase looks up at Ridel standing by the doorway. “The work you’ve done is simply fantastic!” she praises, awe-struck. “You’re a wonderful engineer!”

Grinning nervously, he holds his hands out in front of him. “Oh, n-no, don’t look at me, miss,” he stutters. “I wasn’t the one who made them.”

Winry looks surprised. Just then, a deep voice intones from the doorway behind you. “I am.” Turning, you see the man who spoke to be a burly, aging man with dark skin and grey hair. He casts his eyes down onto you and Ed.

...

In the next room, the man—Dominic—examines Ed’s automail closely. “This arm seems a bit heavy,” he states. Motioning for you to approach, he weighs your arm in his hand with a thoughtful look on his stern face. “This one is the same way.”

“Y-yeah, I guess they are,” Winry says, looking a bit sheepish.

Dominic grunts. “You want to be more careful not to strain your outfit-ee,” he says. “That could be the reason why their growth is stunted.”

“HEY, SHUT UP!!” you both shriek simultaneously. After a beat, Ed gasps deeply. “Wait, are you telling me that if my automail was lighter, I’d grow taller than this?!” he demands.

Dominic rubs his chin thoughtfully. “It’s a possibility,” he agrees.

You fantasize about the idea of being taller, almost drooling at the possibility.

Meanwhile, Winry clenches her fist. “Right,” she says, determined. “That settles it. Mr. Dominic!” She turns to face the man, who turns to her with a grunt. “I beg you...make me your apprentice!!”

Dominic is unimpressed. “Not a chance, girl,” he says dully.

Winry looks like she just died a little on the inside. “Maybe you’d like more time to consider the idea?” she says, not sounding very hopeful.

“No need,” Dominic sighs. “I don’t take on apprentices.”

Ed, seemingly driven by the idea of being taller, chimes in. “I understand,” he pleads, “but maybe you could take some time out of your busy schedule to teach her how to make automail to make me taller?”

“Please?” you beg.

“Can it, you little fleas,” the engineer growls before rising from his chair and leaving the room, closing the wooden door heavily behind him.

“Sorry about that,” says Ridel. “My old man can be pretty stubborn.”

Winry seems heartbroken.

...

A little while later, Paninya comes up to you in one of the spare bedrooms where you'd be spending the night. “Here,” she says. “You should probably give this back to your boyfriend.” She tosses Ed’s pocket watch to you.

You blush. “He’s not my—!”

She cuts you off. “I think I might have broken it or something though, because I can’t seem to get it to open or anything.”

Testing the lid, you find that it is indeed stuck closed. However, upon closer inspection, you find the trouble. “You didn’t do anything; don’t worry,” you tell Paninya. “It’s sealed with alchemy. I’ll give it back to Ed...thanks.”

She shoots you a grin, winks, and walks away.

Once she's gone, you taker a closer look at the pocket watch. The back of your neck prickles with curiosity. You know that Ed must have sealed it up for a reason, but...

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you glance around to make sure that no one is watching. Cautiously, you clap the watch between your hands and unlock the seal. Pressing the button on top to pop the lid open, you look inside and feel your heart sink. Carved into the lid are the words: _Don’t forget 3.oct.11_.

Scratching your thigh and burning with guilt, you reseal the lid and slip the watch into your pocket.

...

Rain pours down heavily on the small house. You, Ed, and Al are walking down the hall, returning to your rooms for the night. You pause as you see Satera sitting on a chair, rubbing her round, swollen stomach.

“Excuse me,” Al says, hesitantly, “but are you having a baby?”

“Why, yes I am,” she says softly, smiling.

Al crosses the room to stand near the chair beside her. “Do you think...?” He hesitates. “Would it be alright if I touched your tummy?” he asks.

She laughs kindly. “Go right ahead!” she says.

You watch, fascinated, as Al gently places his large metal hand on Satera’s round stomach. He lets out a small sound, seemingly awed. With a smile, she extends her hand out to Ed, guiding his hand to her belly before doing to same for you.

You are amazed to feel a soft thump against the palm of your hand. “What was that?” you ask.

Satera chuckles. “That’s the baby kicking,” she explains.

Ed pulls back slightly, looking up at her face. “It’s like there’s a miracle in your stomach,” he says softly.

“Yeah,” Al agrees. “We were in Mom’s tummy like this once upon a time too.”

Your mind drifts back to your own parents, but before you can really start to think about it, Satera lets out a pained sound, snapping you back to reality.

“Are you okay?” Ed asks, noting the wince on her face.

“Y-yes,” she says, sounding strained. She groans again. “I think...the baby is c-coming!” She flinches for a third time.

You swallow hard and take her hand in yours. “It’ll be okay, Satera. Just breathe, okay? You’ll be just fine.” You turn to Ed. “Well? What are you waiting for? Go tell the others!”

...

 

Once Dominic leaves for town to fetch the doctor, everyone crowds together in the young couple's bedroom. Ridel sits on a chair next to the bed, watching his wife as she clutches at her stomach, wincing in pain. “Pop will be right back with a doctor...” he promises. “Just hang on a little longer for me, okay?”

Satera groans. “There’s no hanging on here,” she grunts. “It’ll come whenever it’s ready to.” She lets out a yelp.

Ridel leans forward. “What’s the matter, hon?” he asks worriedly. Satera mumbles something to him. “Huh?” he says, leaning in closer. She mumbles again, and Ridel cups his hand behind his ear, looking embarrassed. “Uh, sorry...one more time...? I couldn’t hear that.”

Satera growls. “I said ‘It’s coming!’!” she yells.

Everybody in the room panics. “What do we do?” Ed exclaims. “The doctor’s not here yet!”

Winry clenches her fists. “We’re just going to have to do it!” she says loudly, sounding firm.

“Have to do what?”

Winry swallows. “Deliver it.”

“So...” Ridel gulps. “So you’ve seen a baby being delivered before?”

“No, I...” Winry says, faltering. “I haven’t. But we don’t have any other options here! I need everyone’s help.” She seems to be gaining confidence. “We _are_ going to do this!”

She ties an apron around her waist and starts firing off commands. “Ed and Al, go and get me some boiling water!”

“Right!”

“Paninya, go find some towels! And hurry!”

“U-uh, Roger!”

“Mr. Ridel, do you have any rubbing alcohol we can use for disinfectant?”

“I think we have some in the store room.”

“Echo, you go grab those. Oh, and some ice chips! We’ll put them by Mrs. Satera’s bedside.”

“Got it!"

...

Once all of the supplies have been gathered, Winry runs through a mental checklist outside the bedroom. “Boiling water...disinfectant...towels...what else is there?”

“Winry,” you say, putting a hand on her arm. “You can do this.”

She steels herself. “You’re right. Come on Echo, give me a hand in here.”

You panic. “W-wait, me?" you stammer, shooting the brothers a pleading glance. "Winry, I-I don’t know what I’m—I mean, I really don’t think I—gah!” She grabs your arm and yanks you into the room, slamming the door behind you.

...

A few hours later, you stumble out of the room, falling onto your hands and knees; you breathe heavily, sweat trickling down the back of your neck. Ed drops down beside you, putting his hands on your shoulders. “Echo! W-what—?”

You rake your hair away from your face and pull yourself up onto your knees. Wrapping your arms around Ed, you press your forehead against his shoulder. “We did it, Ed. We did it!”

He pulls you against him, peering over your shoulder before letting out an awed sound. Behind you, you can hear the baby cry, cradled in Satera’s arms. “It...” Ed seems shocked. “It’s a baby!” He hugs you tighter, laughing with amazement. “It’s a real live baby! Awesome! Awesome, awesome, awesome!”

“Ed...” you say slowly, chuckling. He looks down at you, still grinning from ear to ear. “I, um...kinda can’t move. Can you carry me to my room? Please?”

...

You burrow your face into Ed’s shoulder as he carries you on his back down the stairs. He shifts, and you feel Ed's watch in your pocket as it brushes against your leg. In all the chaos, you had completely forgotten about it. Guilt prickles at your skin, weighing down in your chest as you remember the words carved inside.

You press your face into the crook of his neck and sigh. “I have to tell you something,” you admit softly.

He glances back at you briefly, still walking. “What is it?"

You hesitate. “I got your watch back from Paninya,” you whisper. “And...I opened it. I saw what you wrote.” Ed freezes, standing motionless just past the base of the stairs. "I'm sorry," you breathe helplessly. "I'm so sorry."

After a long, long moment, he shoves your legs off of him. You scramble to stand as Ed whirls around to grab your arms, squeezing hard. You can't help but flush at how close he is to you, your bodies just inches apart.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” he tells you, voice grim, quiet. “No one was.”

You struggle to come up with the right words, conflicting emotions tearing through you. Failing, you simply ask, “Why?”

The golden-eyed boy is quiet for a long, heavy moment. “It’s private,” he says finally, voice hardly louder than a whisper. “An admonition to myself.” He grips your arms tighter, looking everywhere but at you. “I hate to admit how weak I am...That I had to give what happened that day substance, and then carry it around with me as a reminder.”

You feel tears pool in your eye, and, despite your efforts to stop them, they come trickling down your cheek.  _Your fault!_ nags a voice in your head gleefully.  _All your fault!_

Biting hard on your lip, you drag your bitten, jagged fingernails roughly over the jean-clad surface of your thigh, feeling scabs tear open and blood begin to ooze slightly.

At the sight of your tears, Ed looks at you for the first time since he put you down; his eyes soften. “And now I’ve gone and made you cry,” he sighs, cupping your face with one hand and wiping a tear away with his thumb.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out, more tears falling. “It’s just that...I...” You sniff. “Fuck, Ed, you don’t even know the half of it,” you say, letting out something between a laugh and a sob.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he questions.

“I—not now.” You shake your head, sniffling. “I can’t tell you now. Not yet. But I will later, okay? I...I promise.”

You look up at him through teary eyes. He swipes his thumb over your cheek again, locking eyes with you.

Slowly, he starts to lean in, and the smell of him swirls around you. He smells like...like  _Ed_ , like iron and sunshine and _home_. You breathe in deeply; your head is spinning. He leans in close, closer, closer still; your eyes flutter closed as his warm breath stirs the hairs around your face.

Just before your lips can touch, however, the front door slams open, causing you both to leap apart as if you'd been shocked. Legs like jello, you turn to see Dominic, back with the doctor.

...

“Hurry up, Al!” says Ed, running after the departing train. “If we miss this train, there’s not another one for three days!”

Al is the first one on the train, stepping onto the platform of the caboose. Ed tosses him his suitcase and then jumps on behind him. He leans over and holds out his hand, stretching as far as he can. As the train passes the edge of the platform, you jump, catching his hands in yours as he pulls you up onto the platform and into his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Edcho is real~~


	13. This is Really Happening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Churned this one out in one sitting just for you guys!  
> Thanks to everyone who left comments and kudos -- I love you all!!

_“I still have too long a life ahead to get rid of these feelings, right? I want to try doing over the things I’ve left undone. I thought I was running after something carried over from my dreams, yet I’m stumbling into people on this narrow, winding road. It’s not like I want to go back to the way things were back then; I’m just searching for the sky I’ve been losing. Here’s hoping you’ll understand. Stop making that sad face as though you were a victim. Sins don’t end in tears; you have to carry the pain forever. Who am I waiting for in this maze of emotions with no way out in sight? I want to purge myself more simply, as if writing in a blank notebook. What is it I want to escape from? ...Is it reality? It makes me want to scream that we’re alive for things to come true. Can you hear me? I can’t put up with playing it safe. ...I’ve got nowhere to go home to! I’m always grateful for kindness; that’s why I want to grow stronger (I’m on the way). I even welcome this pain for the things I miss.”_  
—Yui, Again

“Well guys, we’re finally here!” Ed says.

You eye the door of Teacher’s house nervously. “This was a bad idea,” you grumble.

There is a series of loud thuds from inside the modest-looking building, growing in volume as they approach. You and the boys gulp loudly.

Slowly, the red door creaks open, and the glint of a bloody blade pierces out from the darkness behind, causing the three of you to cringe back fearfully.

“Hmmm...?” grunts the hulking giant of a man who ducks to step out of the doorway.

“Um, hello Sig,” Ed squeaks, greeting Teacher’s husband.

“L-long time no see!” you stutter.

A giant hand descends onto Ed’s head, mussing up his hair. “Good to see you,” he says, his voice a low, deep rumble in his massive chest. “You’ve grown up a little, huh?”

Ed’s face contorts as Sig continues to ruffle his hair. “He’s squishing me—!” he chokes out under his breath.

Al—a full head or three shorter than the man—clasps his hands to his armored chest. “You probably don’t recognize me,” he says, “but it’s Alphonse.” He bows slightly. “Sorry we’ve been away for so long.”

Sig turns toward the younger Elric and, after a beat, takes his hand off of Ed’s (now messy) head and begins to rub Al’s instead. “Looks like you’ve grown up more than a little!” he rumbles. Al beams beneath the massive hand.

Then Sig turns his attention toward you. “And if it isn’t the lovely Miss Echo!” he greets. “You seem to be doing—” He pauses. “What happened to your arm?”

You chuckle nervously, scratching the back of your head. “Well, you know me, Sig!” you stammer, “Always getting into trouble! It was bound to happen sooner or later.”

He grunts, then ducks inside the house. “Izumi,” he calls. “Echo Slade and the Elric shrimps have come for a visit. Do you think you can see them?”

“I’ll be right there,” Teacher’s voice calls from inside. “I’m feeling a little better today.”

“Lying down?” Al muses quietly. “That’s not a good sign.”

“I guess she hasn’t gotten any better since last time,” Ed agrees.

All of a sudden, the door slams open, sending the three of you reeling back in surprise. Without warning, a sandaled foot slams into Ed’s face, sending him tumbling back several feet. You and Al jump away from the door, not wanting the same treatment.

Slowly, deliberately, the dark haired, sandal-clad woman steps down the stairs before the door. Her eyes burn red. “Hello, my stupid pupil!” she snarls. “I hear you’ve become one of the military’s dogs!” Her head whips to the side, her furious, hellfire-fueled glare trained on you. “And you—!” she spits.

You scramble back, tripping over your own two feet. “I...I—T-Teacher, please! It’s n-not like th—!”

Al tries to intervene. “Uh, Teacher...! You see...it’s because...! Um...”

Izumi turns to him, and the demonic fury drains from her face. “Al?” she gasps, breaking into a warm smile. “Look at you! You’ve gotten so big!” She extends a hand to him.

Al exhales with relief. “Teacher!” he says, stepping toward her. “It’s so good to see y—augh!!” He goes to shake her hand, but at the last minute, she shifts, grabbing his wrist and flipping him over her shoulder, sending him barreling into you. You both shriek as you tumble over each other.

Teacher turns away, crossing her arms. “Your skills are rusty,” she scolds.

You sit up slowly, rubbing your aching head. You can feel a bump forming. “You’ve got a lot of energy for someone who’s not feeling well,” you groan.

In an instant, she is inches away from your face. “NOT FEELING WELL?!” she screams. “WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? I’M PERFECTLY—!!” She is cut off as she turns to the side and vomits up a small waterfall of blood, causing you to panic.

Sig’s huge hand claps down gently of Teacher’s shoulder. She stops and turns to look up at him. “You shouldn’t exert yourself,” he rumbles.

She turns around and wraps her arms around him. “How sweet of you to worry, dear!” she croons. “Thank you!"

...

“The Philosopher's Stone?” Izumi muses. “No, I don’t know much about it...It holds no interest for me.”

You were all seated around the round dining room table in Teacher’s home. You blow on your mug a tea before taking a sip, burning your tongue in the process.

“I see,” says Ed glumly. “Okay.”

Sig turns toward Izumi. “There was that one Alchemist...” he reminds her. “I thought that one man from Central knew a good amount about the Stone...”

Your ears perk up, and you exchange a glance with Ed and Al. “So, who was this guy?” you ask, stirring a sugar cube into your mug.

“Let me think...” Izumi places her finger on her chin. “What’s his name...? Ah, Hohenheim!”

From the corner of your eye, you can see Ed’s face twist with hatred.

Izumi notices too, it seems, because she sends him an unimpressed glance. “What is it?” she asks.

Ed seems to swallow back a biting retort. “Then he’s alive,” he growls.

Teacher still doesn’t seem impressed. “Someone you know?” she says, sounding almost patronizing.

You open your mouth to answer, but Al beats you to the punch. “He’s our father,” he says, voice quiet.

The dark-haired woman nearly flinches. “The one who ran out on you when you were little?”

“Yeah, that’s the one!” Ed barks. He grits his teeth, turning his head to the side, glaring a hole in the floor. “It’s all because of that bastard that our mother is dead...” he snarls. “And...if it wasn’t for him...”

Your mind flashes back to a night years ago, back when you were all still young and innocent. The details are foggy, but the memory still remains.

...

**_(Age 5)_ **

Trisha is standing by the door with the boys’ broad-shouldered father; a tall man with a sleek blonde ponytail and a face you can’t quite recall. Trisha turns toward you and the boys. “Oh! She says, sounding surprised. “You three are up early! What are you doing out of bed?”

You rub sleep out of your eyes with the hand not grabbing the sleeve of Ed’s nightshirt, trailing along behind him as he holds Al’s hand. “Al said he had to go potty,” Ed yawns.

Trisha smiles. “And of course his big brother took care of him,” she praises.

You rub your eyes again. “An' I came to make sure no monsters try any funny bi-ness,” you slur.

“That’s my brave girl,” Trisha laughs, kissing you on the forehead.

Smiling up, you see the blonde man turn his back on her, opening the door and stepping out without a word or a single backward glance.

 ...

The next night at dinner, you remember Ed eyeing the empty seat at the kitchen table. “Hey...why isn’t Dad here?”

Trisha stops and stares at the cabinet where she is putting away dishes. “Your dad left,” she says in a funny voice. She sounds kinda sad.

Al smiles, turning around in his chair. “When’s he coming back, Mom?”

After a pause, she turns around with a chuckle. “I’m gonna getcha!” she smiles, leaning down and tickling the youngest brother. “You silly boy,” she laughs as a tear falls down her cheek. “He’ll be back before you know it, Al. Now, finish your dinner, kids.”

...

**_(Age 15)_ **

Flinching, you startle back to the present. You go to reach out to Ed, who still seems lost in thought, but pause just before you touch him.

Things have been... _different_ , since that night in Rush Valley a few days ago. You’ve been awkward, and he’s been awkward, and you can’t stop thinking about what would have happened if Dominic hadn’t busted in and interrupted whatever had been going on between the two of you.

After a long moment of indecision, you settle for kicking his leg under the table. He jumps and nearly spills hot tea all over his lap, catching himself at the last moment.

“Um—” Al teeters out. “Did our dad say anything about the Philosopher's Stone?”

Izumi puts her hand to her chin again. “Something about a life-long dream coming true,” she recalls. “He seemed very happy when he said it.”

All of a sudden, Teacher stood up and whacked Ed over the back of the head. “Now we’re going to eat!” she roars, hands on her hips.

“Okay!” complains Ed, rubbing his head.

...

You have to say, you’d never pegged Teacher as a good cook. But a good cook she is indeed.

You are part-way through devouring a turkey leg when Sig turns to Al. “You’re not going to eat anything?”

“Oh, no!” he says, waving his hands nervously. “I’m fine! I had a big meal on the train ride here.”

“Hey Al!” says Ed, changing the subject ~~oh-so-subtly~~. “You should tell her about Rush Valley!” He glances at you sideways from the corner of his eye and you glance away, face heating up. “About the baby being delivered.”

You shudder. “Damn it, Ed, I’m trying to eat!” 

“Oh, it was so amazing!” Al says wondrously. “We helped deliver a baby! There was this big storm, and we couldn’t get the mother to a doctor!”

“Well,” says Ed, “it’d be pretty generous to call what we did ‘helping’!”

Al laughs. “Yeah, it was mostly Winry and Echo. And the whole family pitched in, too! The mother was so brave! Everyone’s blessed when a baby is born, huh?”

“Yes, that’s right,” says Teacher, eyes cast downward. “That same miracle brings us all into this world...Always take pride in the lives that were given you.”

...

Later that night, you and the boys are in the guest room. Ed is sprawled out on his back on one of the beds, staring out at the stars. You sit behind Al on another, helping to polish his armor.

The younger Elric lets out a small chuckle. “Teacher hasn’t changed, has she?”

“Nope,” Ed sighs, “she hasn’t changed one bit in all this time.”

Smiling, you think back on how you met Izumi the first time.

...

**_(Age 9)_ **

A storm is raging. Needle-like raindrops pierce the sky, and you clutch at the sleeve of Ed’s raincoat as the flash-flooding breaks through the levee. If something doesn’t happen soon, the whole town will have to evacuate.

Suddenly, a man starts shouting. “The levee is breaking!” He waves his arms, struggling to be heard over the scream of the wind. “Head for higher ground!”

Alphonse taps your shoulder. “Guys, look!” He points to a woman walking briskly toward the rock wall, which cracks open as she approaches. She seems unfazed by the cold water that swirls at her hips, and she claps her hands, black sparks crackling as she slams them into the ground beneath the surge. The sparks spread through the water, and then huge stone walls shoot up from the ground, blocking the flow.

Standing up and turning around, she wipes the dirt off her hands. “Well that ought to hold the water back for a while!” she calls.

“Lady, who are you?” somebody questions.

The woman grins. “Just a housewife who was passing by!” she responds before a fountain of blood surges out of her mouth.

You, Ed, and Al shove your way through the crowd, running up the mysterious woman. “Hey old lady!” Ed yells excitedly. “Could you be our teacher?”

The woman turns with a death glare, wiping blood from her mouth with the back of her hand before clapping and pressing against the ground, forming a rocky pillar that sends the three of you flying.

You come running back again. “Pretty please, old lady?” the three of you exclaim simultaneously.

She bristles. “I’m a little hard of hearing, you see, so I didn’t quite catch that...!” she growls, cracking her knuckles. “Maybe you’d like to repeat yourselves?”

“Uhh...” You and the boys exchange looks. The three of you clasp your hands together at your chest, turning puppy-eyes on the woman. “We’ll try again,” says Al.

“Please, please, teach us, pretty lady?” you beg, putting on your nicest, sweetest voice.

“No way.” She turns her head.

“Why not?!”

She leans down menacingly. “Because I don’t take on students,” she snaps. “And besides, I'm in the middle of a trip!”

You grab onto her arm. “But please!” you shout, as she lifts her arm and tries to shake you off. “Please teach us!” You hang on for dear life.

She shakes harder, and you nearly bite your tongue off. “You brat! What about your parents?!”

A man walks over. “Um, ma’am?” he interrupts. “These little ones don’t have any parents.”

The woman seems surprised, flinching back the smallest amount. She looks down first at you, still hanging onto her arm, and then at the boys, on there knees in the mud, begging. Her face softens. “How am I supposed to say no to that?” she says softly.

...

The three of you stare at the forest that looms ahead of you, taking up most of the small island you’re standing on; you all turn around to blink at Teacher and Sig, sitting in the canoe a few feet away.

“You three are on your own!” she bellows, causing the three of you to gape. “This is your introductory training! If you do well, you’ll move on to the main training phase.” Izumi puts her hands on her hips. “During this first stage, the use of alchemy is totally forbidden!” she commands, causing you all to balk.

Her voice lowers. “‘One is all,’” she quotes, “‘and all is one.’ You have one month to figure out what that means.” She smirks. “You’d better find the answer in the allotted time! If not, you're headed back to Resembool!” She flings a survival knife towards you. It lands point-down in the sand between you and Ed, causing you both to jump. “Bye!” Izumi cheers as Sig starts rowing away.

The two of them grow farther and farther away, and you all seem to realize at the same time that _this is really happening_.

“ ** _What do we do now?!_** ”

...

Night has fallen, and the three of you lie on your backs on top of some large palm leaves at the mouth of the forest, just a little ways up from the beach. Your stomach rumbles loudly.

“Ugh, I’m so _hungry_ ,” Ed moans.

“I want to sleep in a _real_ bed,” Al complains.

You sit up angrily. “How is a camping trip considered alchemy training?!” you rage. Your stomach growls again, louder this time, and you flop back down, too hungry to be angry anymore. “I’m _starving_ ,” you grumble.

...

You watch eagerly as the rabbit hops straight into the snare that you and the boys had set, grinning as the animal is yanked up into the air. “Got one!” you cheer.

You lower it down, placing it on the ground with its feet tied together. It struggles, squeaking, and you pet its soft ears.

“How are we supposed to eat it?” Al asks.

A determined look on his face, Ed pulls the knife from his pocket. “We kill it,” he answers grimly.

Al shrinks back. “Kill it...?”

Ed turns to the rabbit, knife shaking in his fist. You step away from it, chest aching as it stares up at you with pleading eyes. After a long, long moment, Ed tries to thrust the knife toward you, but you push his hand away. “No way!” you yell. “I’m not doing it!”

“Catching them is more my area of expertise, so it’s only fair,” he cajoles.

“That is such a lie!” you shriek. “I set this trap!!”

A small sound distracts you two from your arguing, and when you look down, the rabbit is gone. A bit ahead, you see a fox, jaws clamped around the animal’s neck. It gives you a glance before trotting away.

“Hey, come back here!!!”

The three of you chase it for a bit, but it is much faster than you. Stopping, you see it run ahead, laying the rabbit down before two baby foxes.

“Fox cubs,” says Ed breathlessly. “Look!”

The animals dig into the rabbit, bloody meat in their mouths and you jerk back, gagging. “I think I’m gonna be sick,” you choke out.

...

It’s night again, a few days later. Together, you’ve managed to construct a sort of wooden tent, and you’re all huddled inside it, trying to avoid the rain that drips down from the cracks above. You’re cold and hungry and your whole body aches. “This is wonderful,” you bite out sarcastically. “No food, no fire, no _anything_.”

Ed shifts behind you. “Don’t remind me!” he snaps.

Burrowing your face into your knees, you bite your nails and sigh, blinking back tears.

...

Another few days, and the sun beats down, roasting you alive. It’s been over a week since you’d last eaten, and you feel horrible; your vision blurs and there’s an incessant ringing in your ears that won’t go away. You force yourself upright weakly, looking around. You see a line of ants marching away, and fall onto your stomach next to them to watch. Ed flops down beside you.

Stomach aching hollowly, watch as Ed scoops one up and shoves it in his mouth, chewing once before swallowing.

“Um, Ed?”

He rears back, groaning in disgust before popping a few more in his mouth.

You roll over to watch as he flings himself back, legs kicking in frustration. “’s _gross!!_ ” he shrieks.

He’s silent for a moment. “Guys,” he says quietly. “I’m still alive; I’m alive because I ate the ants!” He pauses, thinking. “I’m alive, because I consumed life.” Tears pool in his eyes. “I’m still alive,” he whimpers.

...

After that, the three of you changed. You built a fire, you hunted, learned to fish. The first night you all had food, you stuffed yourselves so much that you got sick.

The night before Teacher came back to pick you all up, you were lying on your backs by the fire, staring up at the stars.

“Hey guys?” Al asks. “Have you figured out what Teacher meant by ‘one is all and all is one’? I’ve been thinking about it this whole time, but I still only have a few vague ideas.”

“Now, I’m not really sure about this,” Ed answers back honestly, “but do you remember when I was weak with hunger and I ate those ants?”

“You ate a lot of them,” you snort.

“I sure did,” Ed chuckles. “And boy did they taste nasty! But then, it got me thinking; if I didn’t eat them, I might have died! And then I would have been eaten by them! I’d have gone into the earth and become grass; and then the rabbits would eat that.”

“I think I get it,” you muse. “All things are connected, and everything, every _one_ is part of the cycle. Everything is tiny and insignificant compared to all of everything in existence, but if you put a bunch of tiny things together, they become one big thing. ‘One is all, and all is one’.”

...

“Today is the day,” Teacher says, hands on her hips. “Let’s here what you’ve learned about ‘one is all, and all is one’.”

“All is the world!” Al announced confidently.

“And one is me!” continues Ed.

You're all pretty shocked when Teacher starts laughing. “Very well,” she sobers up. “Now the real training starts.”

The three of you immediately start celebrating. You high five each other and start cheering exuberantly.

...

“The basis of transmutation is the power of the circle, which denotes the circulation of power. In order to harness and draw upon this power, one must draw the structural matrix over the circle.”

Izumi, rattles on, reading from the book held in one hand, while effortlessly fending off attacks from you and the boys with the other.

Spotting an opening, you jump up and spin around, aiming a kick to Teacher’s face; suddenly, her eyes glint and she tosses the book into the air. Clapping her hands around your leg and using your own momentum against you, she flips you and sends you crashing to the ground in a painful heap.

Standing over you in the front lawn, the woman holds her hand up and continues speaking. “This is also the circulation of power.” With a smirk, the book falls perfectly into her outstretched hand. “It’s best if you experience it for yourself,” she taunts, turning to beckon the brothers challengingly.

Unwillingly, Ed and Al rush her, only to be sent flying.

“Enough of that!” Teacher barks, looking at the three of you, huddled on the ground in pain. “Keep reviewing the morning’s lesson until lunch is ready,” she commands, turning and walking back towards the house.

Alphonse is the first to muster up the will to push himself up, and he sits back on his haunches. “Let’s see,” he muses, drawing a circle in the dirt with his finger. “‘The circle denotes the circulation of power’,” he recites, looking up to Teacher. “‘In order to harness and call upon this power, one must draw a structural matrix over the circle’.” You and Ed manage to push yourselves into a seated position, watching Al as his brow furrows. He presses his palms together, throwing Teacher a confused look. “But Teacher, you just put your palms together to perform transmutations, don’t you?”

Izumi stops with her back facing you, her hand stilling on the front doorknob. After a long beat, she shifts slightly, looking at the three of you over her shoulder.

“You can do it without drawing the structural matrix?” Al continues, seemingly not noticing the way Teacher’s face has darkened.

Teacher turns her gaze back toward the door. “If you think about it a certain way,” she answers back grimly, “I myself am the matrix.”

“How do you do it?” Ed asks eagerly, leaning forward with his hands on his thighs. “Tell us, Teacher!”

Izumi seems to wilt a little bit as she pulls open the door the rest of the way. “Perhaps it’s something you learn,” she says with a tone of finality, “when you see the Truth.”

...

**_(Age 15)_ **

You jerk awake suddenly, realization hitting you look a brick. Bolting upright into a seated position, you feel Ed and Al’s eyes on you. “Teacher attempted to perform human transmutation,” you murmur.

...

Out in the yard, you and the brothers stand just behind Izumi, where she faces the wall of her house.

“So,” she intones, still facing away, “what is it you wanted to ask me?”

“Um...” Ed begins, scratching the back of his head. “Well—”

Abruptly, Teacher claps her hands together, rapidly creating a long spear from the stone wall in front of her. Whirling around, she swings it at Ed, who catches it in his hand and ducks under her following fist. She swings a few more times, and he dodges; she shifts her feet and then sends the point whistling through the air, aimed straight for his throat.

Moving so fast that he’s almost a blur, he claps his hands and then presses against his automail, the metal shifting to form a point. Spinning, he slams the blade into the oncoming spear, slicing the point clean from the handle.

At the same time, your press your hands against the ground at your feet, dust motes rapidly solidifying around Izumi’s ankles, melding into the ground and locking her in place.

Izumi’s eyes burn furiously. “As I suspected, you can transmute without a matrix,” she growls, shooting her gaze between the two of you. She points an accusatory finger at Al. “On top of which, Al is now a suit of armor, two of your limbs and one of Echo’s are made from automail, and she’s missing an eye!”

“Teacher, how did you know?!” Ed gasps.

“Oh please,” she scoffs, “I could tell from sparring with you!” She pauses, talking a deep breath. When she speaks again, her voice has returned to a normal volume. “You saw it,” she states, leaving no room for denial. “Didn’t you two.”

The two of you glance toward each other before looking away again, and then Izumi looms over you both. “YOU. SAW. IT!” she bellows.

“Y-yes!”

She sighs, seeming defeated. “It seems all of us are beyond help.”

The air is thick, and your fingers dance lightly around your eyepatch. “Teacher,” you blurt out, “you saw it too. Please, could you...?”

...

You all sit around the table; you stir sugar into your coffee as Teacher talks. “...For a while, it seemed we were barren,” she began, keeping her gaze trained on the ground. “We wanted a child, but couldn’t conceive. When we _were_ finally able to conceive, I ended up falling gravely ill...and our child as well. He was not able to take a living breath in this world. And so, I committed the taboo. As a result, I lost parts of my inner organs.” Her hand moves to rest against her stomach as she continues grimly. “What an idiot I was.” The atmosphere of the room is thick with regret. “Now I realize I should have told you sooner,” Izumi sibilates.

There is a long moment of silence. You gnaw on your thumb absently, thoughts darkening rapidly.

“It must have been awful,” Teacher says finally, breaking the silence.

You jerk, the movement causing you to tear your nail roughly, blood immediately welling up, beading on the edge of your nail before starting to dribble sluggishly down your finger. You jerk your hand under the table before anyone can notice.

Ed begins talking from where he’s seated away from you, but you can hardly even hear him. Blood is roaring in your ears as you stare at the red dripping down your finger, your knuckle, the back of your hand, inching its way down your wrist.

“Nah,” you hear him say distantly, “We did it to ourselves, after all. It hasn’t been that big a deal, actually!” Even through the haze clouding your mind, you can tell that he’s putting on a front.

“Besides,” Al adds, “now I have this long list of things I’m looking forward to eating! Right, Brother?”

“Yeah!” Ed fakes a laugh. “It’s nothing!”

As a droplet falls onto your lap, you force on a smile, tearing your gaze away and wiping your hand on your pants.

“You little idiots,” Izumi sighs, pulling the three of you into a group hug. “It’s okay to hurt.”

You press your face into Teacher’s shoulder and force back tears as the brothers choke out apologies.

_You deserve to hurt._


	14. Failure is Not an Option

“To think you saw it, and managed to survive...” Teacher muses, staring out the open window. “I doubt you even know how impressive that is. Regardless, I can’t accept the decision you made.” With a glare, she turns to face you and the boys. “You’re expelled,” she says sharply.

“But Teacher—!”

Ed holds out his hand, halting his brother. “Al,” he warns.

Izumi turns back to the window. “The trains are still running. Get on one.”

Ed seems to steel himself, and then bows to the woman. “Thank you,” he says stoically, “for everything.”

 

 _“I still have too long a life ahead to get rid of these feelings, right? I want to try doing over the things I’ve left undone. I thought I was running after something carried over from my dreams, yet I’m stumbling into people on this narrow, winding road. It’s not like I want to go back to the way things were back then; I’m just searching for the sky I’ve been losing. Here’s hoping you’ll understand. Stop making that sad face as though you were a victim. Sins don’t end in tears; you have to carry the pain forever. Who am I waiting for in this maze of emotions with no way out in sight? I want to purge myself more simply, as if writing in a blank notebook. What is it I want to escape from? ...Is it reality? It makes me want to scream that we’re alive for things to come true. Can you hear me? I can’t put up with playing it safe. ...I’ve got nowhere to go home to! I’m always grateful for kindness; that’s why I want to grow stronger (I’m on the way). I even welcome this pain for the things I miss.”_  
—Yui, Again  
  


Sig waits with you and the brothers as the train pulls into the station. “Feel free to drop by if you’re ever in town,” he rumbles.

Your shoulders drop. “I don’t really think we’re welcome anymore,” you sigh.

“You idiots!” the mountain of a man shouts, and the three of you flinch back, surprised. “You’re so busy pouting that you can’t see what your expulsion means,” he explains. “You aren’t her students anymore, so now you are finally free to speak to Izumi as equals!” He pauses. “...unless, of course, you are too chicken to try it,” he taunts, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Ah, _damn!_ ” Ed exclaims, clapping a hand to his forehead and turning to you and Al. “Guys! We haven’t done what we came here to do in the first place!” He turns back to Sig. “Thank you. We’re heading back there right now!” he says, before dashing off.

As you and the youngest Elric dash off after him, you here Sig’s parting words: “Don’t let her kill you!”

...

Ed flings open the door. “Teacher—!” He is cut off by his own scream as a knife embeds itself in the wall barely a hair over his head.

“ _What the hell are you doing coming back here?!_ ” Teacher roars, the flames of hell rising behind her eyes. “And you call me _‘Teacher’_! I do not teach scum like you! Get out of my home!!”

You and the brothers fall to you knees before the enraged woman, groveling at her feet.

“Teacher!” you cry out, pressing your hands to your chest. “ _Please_! We need your help! We’re trying to get our bodies back, and we _won’t_ leave without your help!”

Your words do nothing to calm the infuriated woman before you. “Get out now!” she snarls viciously.

“We’re staying!”

For a long, silent moment, Izumi stands with her hands on her hips, glaring at you, Ed, and Al. Finally, she turns her head and closes her eyes. “You idiots,” she sighs.

...

“Al, you didn’t see the Truth, did you?” Izumi questions.

“No,” he confesses. “I don’t even really know what that means.”

“You must have lost your memory from the shock,” the woman ponders, her hand on her chin. After a beat, she sits up straighter. “We need to get Al’s memory back,” she declares, focusing in on you and Ed. “His entire body was taken from him.” Her gaze sharpens. “Just think of what he must have seen.”

You straighten up. “Oh yeah,” you murmur. “We only exchanged _parts_ of our bodies for what we saw. But Al paid the toll with his entire physical being. He must have seen more of the Truth than any of us did!”

Al shifts. “So...” he says haltingly, “if I can remember what I saw, then we’ll know how to get our bodies back?”

Izumi’s brow furrows. “But the memory of that _thing_...”

Al seems to blanch. “Why?” he stammers. “Is it something bad?!”

“No,” Teacher says ominously. “More like... _awful_.” She waves her arms mysteriously.

“Horrifying!” Ed agrees, wiggling his arms as well.

“It could drive you insane!”

“Or even leave you brain-dead!”

Your eye twitches. “Cut it out!” you snap. “Stop teasing him! You really believe that he thinks it’s going to be a walk in the park? He _knows_ it’s going to be hard. You don’t have to harass him!!”

Al places a hand on your arm, and you fall silent. His other hand clenches into a fist on his lap. “It doesn’t matter!” he says determinedly. “If there’s a chance that it can help us...then I want to do it!”

Izumi’s hand returns to her chin. “...Alright,” she utters after a long beat of silence. “I have an acquaintance that might have a way to retrieve your memory for you.” She pauses, taking a deep breath through her nose, then smiles. “But! Let’s eat dinner first.” She rises to her feet. “C’mon; give me a hand.”

...

Al has been gone for well over an hour. He told you and his brother that he was going for a walk, but the two of you were starting to get worried. When another hour passes and there’s still no sign of the boy, you and Ed decide to go looking for him.

“Now where would a seven foot tall suit of armor run off to?” Ed muses.

“Honestly,” you agree, gnawing absently on a hangnail. “You wouldn’t think he’d be that hard to find.”

“I’d be happy to tell you where you can find him,” an unfamiliar voice sibilates. Startled, you turn toward the direction of the voice. In the narrow alley between two buildings stands a short figure with a long, tattered white robe on, hood pulled over its head. It grins at you with a sharp-toothed smile. “But first, you tell me what is his secret is...!”

...

Ed kicks open the door as you shove the strange little man to the floor. The two of you stand in the doorway, taking in the sight before you.

Al is sitting on the floor opposite the doorway, his back against the wall, hands and ankles chained together. Before him stands a man with spiked-up black hair and a leather vest. He’s flanked by a large, muscled man and a smaller man with a katana strapped to his waist.

“It never really crossed my mind that you could get kidnapped,” Ed says as the two of you stride into the room.

“Brother! Echo!” Al exclaims. “This guy’s a homunculus!”

“A homunculus?” you repeat. _As in, an artificial human made from alchemy?_

“Hey!” complains the man. “Way to ruin it!”

Al ignores him. ”We might be able to get some leads from him on how to get our original bodies back!”

Slowly, the man begins to smirk. “The name’s Greed,” he snickers as he slowly raises his left hand to display the familiar tattoo emblazoned onto the back of it. It was the same symbol you’d seen on the man and woman who’d attacked you in the Fifth Lab.

“An ouroboros tattoo,” you growl.

“Aren’t you observant!” he mocks. “I was hoping that I’d only have to deal with the little armored giant.”

“Why don’t you just ask your partners whatever you wanted to know?” you ask, an edge to your voice.

“‘Partners’?”

“Yeah, the rest of the whatever little ouroboros gang you’ve got going on. The ones from the Fifth Lab? They had a couple of armor bonded souls with _them_ as well.”

“You don’t say!” the man says loftily, putting his hands on his hips. “Well it’s kind of a long story, but we don't talk much anymore,” he drawls. “I’ve got a little... _proposal_ for you. You guys are pretty desperate to get your bodies back, right? Because I can teach you how to fabricate your own homunculus in no time at all.” He smirks. “In return, all I ask is you teach me how to transmute a soul. Classic equivalent exchange!” Greed chuckles, turning to face Al. “But I really don’t understand why you would want your other body back!” He shrugs. “Seems like you’ve got one that’s perfect already!”

“No I _don’t_!” Al snarls as your hands ball into fists at your sides.

Greed snickers. “You’re joking, right? You don't need to _eat_. You don't need to _sleep_. You don't even need to use the _toilet_!” he marvels. “Sounds _great_ to me!”

“That’s enough,” Ed growls slowly, gritting his teeth. “Shut your damn mouth!!!” he roars. “Sounds _great_ to you!? It seems _perfect_!? You don't know anything about the _hell_ he's gone through stuck with that body!” He takes a step forward, his foot sending up a cloud of dust. “And you want to know how to transmute a soul!? You kidnapped my brother and you want to trade secrets with me!? I'm gonna crush you creeps! I'll smash you!” he bellows. “End you! And I won't give you slime _anything_! In other words there won’t be an exchange with you _scum_!”

Looking utterly unimpressed by Ed’s unadulterated display of fury, Greed lets out a slow, sarcastic clap. Beside him, the man with the sword grips the hilt of it in his hand. “I guess we’re doing this by force again,” he mutters.

“Go ahead,” you fume through clenched teeth. “See what happens.”

Greed scoffs. “Don’t kill them, alright?” he lilts.

“Yeah, yeah,” says the man dismissively. In a smooth, swift motion, he draws his sword and swings it at Ed’s legs. The boy jumps, spinning in the air.

“You're a lot slower than a _prisoner_ I know!” he barks, kicking the man hard in the temple, sending him crashing to the ground.

With a flash of alchemy, you and the eldest brother are armed and ready.

The homunculus steps forward. “Roa,” he says to the large man behind him. “Get the armored kid out of here. Guess we’ll dismantle him.”

“Right,” confirms the man—Roa. He hefts Al over his shoulder, where the boy struggles against the chains binding him.

You growl and run toward them, swinging your scythe. With a jarring _clang_ , you’re brought to a halt as your blade connects with Greed’s hand. With a jolt, you realize that it appears to be made of some sort of solid, impenetrable metal.

Ed jumps in behind you and the two of you exchange blows with the man, who dodges with apparent ease. After a moment, you spot an opening in Greed’s defense, and you arc the blade of your scythe straight at his head.

He blocks the blow with his hands, both of which are now encased in that strange metal. “Nope, sorry,” he teases. “That dusty thing of yours is cute and all, but it can’t even _scratch_ my Ultimate Shield!”

Ed sends spikes of the stone ground hurtling toward Greed, who breaks off the tip of one in his hand. Shifting, the boy shatters them into small, sharp chunks that fly at the man faster than he can dodge. As he’s distracted, you leap onto the man’s shoulders and wrap your legs around his neck. You shift, using your momentum to your advantage and fling yourself sideways, sending him hurtling to the ground.

“Too bad your hands’ ‘ultimate shield’ couldn’t protect you from that!” you taunt.

Greed lashes out at you with his metallic claws, striking you across the collarbone. You stagger back, gripping the bleeding wound.

“You okay?” Ed calls.

You grunt, gritting your teeth. “I’m fine.”

“Ow, that hurt,” the homunculus notes offhandedly. “That move would’ve hospitalized most people.”

“But you’re not like most people, huh?” Ed jeers.

“Well, my body is,” he confesses, gripping the back of his neck as red sparks crackle around him. “All that sets me apart is my Ultimate Shield and advanced healing powers. Nothing special.” He shrugs. “But you’ll never gonna beat me. So I suggest making a deal.” He pauses, and seems to notice the way Ed had shifted himself protectively in front of you.

“Oh, so you’re one of _those_ guys,” Greed quips. “You don’t care somebody beats the crap out of _you_ but if someone lies a finger on family member, you’ll completely freak out.” He rolls his eyes. “What a waste. You lose your temper like this and you’re gonna lose _my_ information and your _brother_.”

“His _brother_ is fine,” you snarl. “He’s just waiting for us to kick your fucking ass. You already told us you’re not immortal, remember? And your Ultimate Shield is pretty pointless if it only covers your hands.”

Greed barks out a laugh as he slips out of his vest, exposing the sleeveless shirt underneath. “Sorry to let you down, but I’ve been holding back!” With a shock, you realize that the shielding covering his hands was quickly spreading up his arms, then across the rest of his body, encasing him completely. “This obscures my handsome face, so I try not to wear it that much,” he taunts. “I wasn’t kidding, kid. Try all you like but you’ll not gonna beat me!”

...

You wonder if this is what dying feels like. You certainly hope not, because _fuck_ is it painful.

Greed showed no mercy. You and Ed had gotten your asses handed to you.

Blood drips into your eye, but you’re already so covered in it that trying to wipe it away just smears more across your face. Every inch of you screams with pain. Your eyepatch hangs off of one ear, dangling somewhere near your shoulder. It seems some of your nerves had been dislodged from your automail, as you’re assaulted over and over by the torturous overstimulation of disconnecting and reconnecting. You’re having a hard time breathing, and every time you do manage a successful inhale, it’s accompanied by an wet, sickening gurgle in your lungs.

Your vision blurs in and out of focus, and you struggle to make out Ed slumped over on the other side of the room, a large streak of blood trailing across wall behind him. The blade on his automail had been ripped clean off, exposing the inner wirings and mechanisms of his arm.

Greed steps up in front of you, nudging your ribs with his boot, and your back arches in a silent scream at the fire it sends through your whole body.

“Give up yet?” Greed mocks, nudging you again.

You ignore the tears streaking down your face as you slowly, _slowly_ force yourself to your feet, falling over once, twice, before you're finally able to get your legs to support you.

Swaying, dizzy, you can hear the man say something to you, but the adrenaline roaring in your ears drowns the words out.

With an impressed yet condescending smile on his face, Greed claps a hand on your shoulder. “You really don’t know how to stay down, do you?” he marvels. He tugs what’s left of your eyepatch off your head and throws it to the ground. You watch the black fabric flutter to the ground and your knees buckle. With a scoff, Greed turns away, slowly making his way over to Ed.

You stare at the ruined cloth on the ground beside your face, and something shifts in your mind. Mental gears whirring, you consider Greed’s words from before.

He’d said that his body was human, which meant a third of it was carbon. The hardness of carbon is dependant on how the atoms are arranged...so his shield was made of carbon, and could be altered.

You’re not the best at that kind of alchemy—the kind that Ed and Al use—but this is your only option.

You try to stand, and fail. You cough and a hot splatter of blood hits the floor, leaving a metallic taste in your mouth.

 _Failure is not an option_.

You drag yourself to your feet and stagger all the way over to the other side of the room, where Greed stands above your best friend, gloating. You half-throw yourself at the man, and he stumbles, not expecting you at all. You press your hands to his midsection and you _push_ your alchemy into him, and you feel the armor beneath your hands soften.

...Now what?

 _Fuck_ , you didn’t think this far ahead. You were so focused on lowering his defenses that you had neglected to think of what to do if you succeeded.

Greed looks at you, then down at his stomach, and then back at you again. After a moment, he starts to laugh. “Jeez kid, I think your brain is scrambled. What were you hoping to—?!”

You see something move out of the corner of your eye, and when you blink, you see the detached blade from Ed’s arm piercing through Greed’s stomach.

As the man staggers several steps back, your eyes focus enough to see Ed upright—slumped heavily against the wall, yes, but upright nonetheless. He has a shard of his broken blade clenched in his fist, and he winces before dropping it to the floor.

Your legs choose that moment to collapse again, and your body slams into his. You fall to the ground together.

You hear Greed laughing somewhere to your right, but you can’t seem to get your head to turn where you want it to. “It seems,” he guffaws loudly, “that I underestimated the two of you! But how long will you be able to keep it up in your condition?”

You hear his pounding footsteps approaching, and you lock eyes with Ed. You reach out weakly, and he grips your good hand with his. After a moment, you feel a tear drip down your cheek and your eyelid falls shut.

_Is this really it?_

_I’m sorry, Ed._

_I’m so sorry._

“E-Ed,” you rasp, blood gurgling in your throat. “I lo—”

Your words are drowned out by a sudden explosion behind you. Dust and debris swirl in the air and you hear a familiar voice call out: “Sorry to barge in like this!”

_Teacher?!_

“You think it’s funny to—?!” She cuts herself off suddenly. You hear her growl and then start running. The familiar sound of alchemy fills the air as she roars, and then the sound of a body hitting a wall with enough force to break the stone. (You’d become very familiar with the sound over the course of the last half hour, experiencing it yourself too many times.)

You hear Greed laugh as you cough more blood onto the ground.

“Well now...!” he laughs. “Just what the hell are _you!?_ ”

“You ask what I am?” Izumi replies. A beat of silence, then: “ ** _A HOUSEWIFE!!!_** ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all already know what Echo was about to say to Ed before Izumi came to save the day
> 
>  
> 
> ~~We've still got a long way to go before that though, kiddos~~


	15. You Should Have Known Better

_“I still have too long a life ahead to get rid of these feelings, right? I want to try doing over the things I’ve left undone. I thought I was running after something carried over from my dreams, yet I’m stumbling into people on this narrow, winding road. It’s not like I want to go back to the way things were back then; I’m just searching for the sky I’ve been losing. Here’s hoping you’ll understand. Stop making that sad face as though you were a victim. Sins don’t end in tears; you have to carry the pain forever. Who am I waiting for in this maze of emotions with no way out in sight? I want to purge myself more simply, as if writing in a blank notebook. What is it I want to escape from? ...Is it reality? It makes me want to scream that we’re alive for things to come true. Can you hear me? I can’t put up with playing it safe. ...I’ve got nowhere to go home to! I’m always grateful for kindness; that’s why I want to grow stronger (I’m on the way). I even welcome this pain for the things I miss.”_  
—Yui, Again

_(Outside POV)_

Greed lunges at the man before him, throwing everything he has into the punch. His opponent, Führer King Bradley, dodges to the side, and the homunculus’ shielded fist glances off the side of his head, severing the strap of his eyepatch. In one swift motion, older man sends the blades of both of his swords through the other's throat.

“I understand why you'd think you have an advantage over a man like me," he begins, almost amicably, "since I possess neither your impenetrable Ultimate Shield, nor an Ultimate Spear that can pierce any substance." His tone changes sharply, dropping st a growl, low and dangerous. “But I'll tell you a secret." He leans in close to the homunculus, faces inches apart. "Do you know how I managed to distinguish myself amongst the storms of bullets on the battlefield time after time; to rise to my current position?”

As he digs the blades in deeper, blood gushes from Greed’s mouth, dribbling down his chin in a hot stream. “Y-You're—!” he gags, choking on the blood filling his throat and lungs.

Slowly, the Führer tilts his head up, revealing the ouroboros tattoo emblazoned on his newly uncovered eye, the red mark in place of where his pupil should be.

“I may not have the protection of your Ultimate Shield...” he growls, digging his blades even further into Greed’s throat. “...but I clearly see your weakness with my Ultimate Eye.” He yanks his blades free from the man, who collapses to the floor, a puddle of blood quickly pooling around him. “Now then, Greed; how many times am I going to have to kill you before you stay dead?”

 

_(Second Person POV)_

After a rather uneventful few weeks in the hospital, you and Ed are finally deemed healthy enough to be discharged.

The night after your release, you meet up with Major Armstrong outside Izumi’s house to debrief on the events that had transpired on the day of Al’s kidnapping.

Ed works on shining Al’s new chest-plate as he speaks; the old one had been destroyed while extracting the dead body of one of Greed’s henchmen from inside the boy’s hollow chest.

“There’s something I forgot to mention,” he informs the burly man. “Greed had an ouroboros tattoo.”

The Major pauses. “I’m...not sure I follow.”

“Think back,” Ed replies. “The Fifth Laboratory? The Philosopher’s Stone? Remember the guys we told you and Colonel Hughes about?”

Armstrong stiffens suddenly. “Colonel Hughes...! I—!” He cuts himself off abruptly.

Noticing the sudden shift in tone, you lean forward from where you sit, perched on the small set of stairs leading to the back door of the house. “Sir...?” you prompt, wary of the normally boisterous man’s hesitation.

The large man circles around from his place behind Ed, coming to kneel down before him. He gives you both a stern, solemn look as he speaks his next words. “Listen, you two,” he says, enunciating carefully. “Do _not!_  Do anything rash.”

As he looks intensely between you and Ed, something in his gaze sends goosebumps over your skin. You nod once, slowly, in response.

The man seems satisfied by this, and he slowly pushes himself back upright and begins walking away. “Well then,” he says, not looking back as he leaves. “Good night.”

Just as the Major disappears from sight, Al speaks up. “Hey guys?” he starts, hesitating. “...They’re back. All memories of when my body was taken away? I remember.”

“Really?” you exclaim. “Al, that’s—! What did you see?”

The boy pauses, thinking. “Well,” he says finally, waving his arms around. “It was definitely weird!” He chuckles. “But unfortunately,” he continues somberly, “I didn’t find out _anything_ about how to get our bodies back.”

“It’s not your fault, Al,” you reassure softly, biting back your own disappointment.

_You should have known better than to get your hopes up._

The boy looks down at his hands. “So, I guess we haven’t made any progress.”

Ed stands up and stretches, nudging the bucket of metal polish with his foot. “No,” he says thoughtfully. “That’s not entirely true. Do you two remember what the Führer told us back in Central?” he muses. “About the unrest amongst the ranks of the Military?”

Thinking back, you recall the conversation. “Yeah,” you nod, nibbling on the edge of your thumb absently. “He said it all had something to do with the Philosopher’s Stone and those ouroboros people. He mentioned wanting to gather information on them, right?”

“Well, Greed obviously had something to do with them,” Ed says, and the image of the man displaying the mark emblazoned on his hand flashes through your mind.

“But if that’s the case,” you wonder aloud, “then why did the Führer slaughter everyone? If he really was trying to get more info, then why didn’t he capture them and force them to talk?”

“Good point,” Al agrees. “And it also seems a little weird that the Führer himself would lead an attack against such a small group...”

“It sure does.” Ed puts his hands on his hips, brow knit together in thought. “No matter how you look at it, none of this adds up.” He looks back over his shoulder at you and Al, his gaze unreadable. “We’ve been warned..." Suddenly, his gaze hardens, determined. "But we _need_ to get closer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is super short! Yikes!!  
> (I'm so sorry I made you guys wait so long for four measly pages!!! But, in my defense, this episode had very little as far as Ed/Echo's perspective goes. And even then a little less because I don't watch ahead while I write. They weren't supposed to get as hurt in the last chapter as I made them. Oops!!!)


End file.
